Aftershocked
by Filter1970
Summary: Jack McCoy thinks hard on his relationship with Claire after her accident (season six)


Aftershocked, a story in (?) parts.

Sam Lopez, 1997

Standard disclaimer about Law & Order and all characters being property of Wolf, NBC, et al.  This is meant purely as a homage and fan fiction and no one is gaining anything monetary off this!  Deep and humble thanks to my fellow Sam Waterston fans, McCoy Toys, and Brows of all categories who make my life on the Net fun.

This story, written in response to the many anti-Jack stories on the Web, takes place after the sixth season finale, in which we are generally not sure what happens to Claire.  I am taking it on ill-placed faith that she is not dead, although I am not sure what state she is supposed to be in.  I therefore have taken an extreme liberty and supposed for the sake of this story that she is in a coma.  I am sorry to have to take this story out of NYC, but as I am not all that familiar with the place, and I thought Jack would want to get away, I have moved the locale a bit west.

Aftershocked

            The view from Jack McCoy's office had been the same for days--rainy and dark.  He knew it had been the same--most of his past few days had been spent staring out of his office window, idly flipping various files through nervous hands.  Those files would change periodically as a paralegal would bring him new folders, but McCoy never bothered to do more than flip the pages, quietly staring and thinking and becoming quite a pain to Adam Schiff.

            It was his third day of staring when Adam deigned to enter Jack's office--a rarity indeed.  He caught his normally volatile EADA with his coat off, tie loose, elbows braced on knees as he watched the constant rain outside his window.  McCoy had neglected to shave before, but the DA couldn't remember if he had ever noticed the faint stubble that dusted the man's thin face.  Schiff had to walk across the office and knock on McCoy's desk before Jack turned to look.

            "Adam.  I didn't hear you come in," McCoy said faintly.  He swiveled in his chair and turned dark eyes to Schiff.  The DA harrumphed slightly.

            "You haven't heard anything for days.  Why should today be any different?"  Adam sat in a chair opposite McCoy's desk.  The younger man smiled.

            "I suppose you're right.  I apologize.  Was there something you needed me for, Adam?"

            "I need you for this office.  It appears that you are not going to oblige me.  Do you have any idea when you might be back?"  Schiff asked.

            Jack tensed and self-consciously ran a hand through his hair.  Schiff noted it lacked the normal care and was relatively untamed, for Jack McCoy.  His subordinate stood and walked a tight circle behind his desk.

            "I'm sorry.  I haven't been here, up here anyway," Jack said, tapping his head.  "There's--well, so much feels different now.  It's--"

            McCoy stopped speaking and turned to his boss, and his friend.  He shrugged slightly and tried to smile--a false, horribly false smile.  To his relief, Adam nodded.

            "It's different.  It's not the same.  I know."

            "Thanks."

            "But are you going to be able to function?"

            Schiff watched as McCoy tried to deliver a derisive snort.  "I'm fine, Adam, I'm just getting used to a different work condition, that's all.  Really."  Jack sat back down in his chair, kicking his legs up on the desk.  He failed to notice his hands toying with a pen as he casually watched Schiff watch him.  Finally, Adam broke the short silence.

            "Bullshit."  He was amused to see Jack's eyebrows shoot up.  "Glad to see I have your full attention, Jack."

            "Well, you do now," McCoy answered, pen forgotten.

            "I want you to take some time off.  This has gotten to you far worse than it has anyone else.  And I suppose that's expected, and understandable."

            "What do you mean, Adam?" Jack asked, averting his eyes.  "I'm fine, nothing's worse."

            "Jack.  Listen to me, as a friend, just for a moment.  It's going to hurt for a good while.  You're close--workers, colleagues, whatever else you and Miss Kincaid may be." Schiff halted for a moment as he watched a look of despair color McCoy's face.  The younger man couldn't look at him.  He charged on, hoping his words would get through.

            "And you have not done anything for this office for days.  I don't need just your presence here, I need your whole person, mind and body.  If that's not happening--then I need you to take some time off.  You have some things you have to deal with.  And it's not going to happen if you keep moping around work."

            "I'm not moping, Adam," McCoy said quietly.

            "When was the last time you saw her?"

            "Two days ago."

            "I mean before the accident."

            Jack darkened even more, anger creeping into his voice.  "We had gotten out of that execution.  She was upset--so was I, I just didn't know it then.  We were supposed to meet later."

            "She was angry at you?"

            "No.  Yes, well, yeah, maybe.  You know how she felt--feels--about the penalty.  We had a minor discussion."

            "And she didn't meet you?"

            "No.  She was on her way, so Briscoe tells me."

            Schiff sighed and sat back.  He knew whatever it was Jack McCoy had to deal with, it was not going to happen in this office and McCoy wasn't about to leave without a shove--he has always had a hard time dealing with life, Schiff thought, but he's a hell of a lawyer.  

            For a moment DA and EADA watched each other.  Jack finally lost the war and looked down.  Adam gave another sigh and stood, moving over to stand next to McCoy.  He laid a hand on the man's shoulder.

            "Get out of here.  If you don't go voluntarily I'll pull you off everything and you won't have anything to do anyway.  And don't come back for at least two weeks.  You haven't had a vacation for years.  Shut up, Jack," he said when the younger man raised his eyes.

            "Adam, don't do that, please--" McCoy began, real pleading in his voice and eyes.

            "Quiet.  Now get out of here.  Leave all your work, and go away, far away.  I don't even want to hear from you for two weeks."  Schiff gave Jack's shoulder a pat, then moved toward the door.  He stopped long enough to retrieve McCoy's coat and toss it at him.  "Get.  Two weeks, remember," he said before going, leaving a stunned McCoy sitting there with his coat thrown on his desk.  Jack touched the coat, feeling overwhelmed and naked.  He was embarrassed at having been so easily read.  *How does he always know?* he thought wonderingly.

            The people in the office were surprised to see Jack McCoy striding through them in street clothes so early in the day.  He neither acknowledged their words nor looked around as he left, pulling his coat collar up as he stepped into the misty rain.  It had let up some but McCoy was oblivious to it.  He quickly hailed a taxi and got in, remaining silent all the way to his apartment, watching the wet city go by.

            The driver left him off near the garage, and McCoy walked by his bike on the way in.  He took a brief second to check the gas in it before going up.  On the way up in the elevator, he was annoyed to find he had fellow riders, who persisted in talking to him.  He tried to maintain a stony silence but was compelled out of politeness to make small talk.  An audible sigh of relief escaped as Jack bolted out of the elevator on his floor, taking the hallway to his apartment in unusually long strides.  Unlocking the door, he shut it quickly and leaned against it, feeling almost hunted, nervous and angry.

            Jack surveyed his apartment as he stood there, and realized he really had been out of it these past days.  Although not fanatically clean, Jack prided himself on a certain organization and sense to things, even if the organization was known only to himself.  He was looking on a place that had been hit by a sudden case of neglect, from various glasses and liquor bottles lying around to clothes in heaps on the floor and file folders on every conceivable surface.  McCoy remembered vaguely that after Claire's accident he had gone slightly crazy and threw a few things around his apartment, but he didn't remember it being this bad.  *I probably just didn't even notice it until now,* he thought weakly.  

            The idea made him feel angry and foolish.  He had had no intention of going back out; he planned on calling out for dinner and stoking his sense of injustice with a few drinks, but the sight made him desperate to get away.  Shedding his coat for the thicker leather jacket he rode with, Jack spun around and went back out, walking silently but intently down the stairs to avoid people.  In the back of his mind he knew it wasn't a smart idea to ride his bike in this weather and that it was actually a very bad idea, but he couldn't stop.  *I have to leave, I have to get out of here,* he thought over and over as he walked over to his Yamaha.  Even in the garage he could feel the bone-chilling dampness outside as he unlocked his seat compartment and put on his helmet.

            McCoy always liked the initial feeling he had when he put on his helmet; it took a few seconds for his ears to adjust and compensate for the covering, but in those few seconds there was total silence and Jack enjoyed the brief respite from noise and sounds and often, from his own head.  Then the noise filtered through and he was back in New York City.  Jack closed the compartment and straddled the bike while he zipped up his jacket.  He had forgotten his gloves, and merely shrugged inside, not worried in particular about the grip on a soon-to-be rain-wet bike.  Jack slammed the kickstand up hard and started the bike, overrevving as usual, enjoying the primal power that it represented.  Jack knew the Yamaha was a macho toy--but he enjoyed it too much to give it up.  When his sister had first seen his ride up on it, she had put two fingers in her throat and mock gagged.  After a ride on it with him, she had really gagged.  And so had several of the people he had given rides to since.

            Except Claire.

            He shook his head to clear it, feeling the stinging behind his eyes beginning.  He walked the bike backwards out of his spot and roared out of the garage, narrowly missing a car coming in.  Briefly checking at the corner, McCoy spun wheels furiously as he headed west, thinking he was going to go eat.

            He rode for about fifteen minutes before he realized he was wandering nowhere.  He slowed slightly to get his bearings, and decided he would head back and stop at a Chinese food place to get takeout.  The rain had increased steadily and Jack felt the wetness making its way down his collar and through his jeans.  *Stupid idea,* he cursed at himself.  

            Jack had worked the bike up to around forty-five on the streets, raising a spume of dirty water behind him, when he saw an eighteen-wheeler trying to negotiate a turn before a light went green.  Jack throttled down and braked early, then looked down sharply as he realized he wasn't slowing enough.  He did a quick calculation and realized he was going at the right speed to kill himself if he hit the truck.  

            Jack whirled his head to see if he could move and saw he was trapped in his lane.  Braking as hard as he safely could, he slid halfway through the intersection and then turned the bike hard to the right, hoping no one was coming through.  The bike weaved and slid down, a car honking as it swerved wildly to avoid hitting Jack.  McCoy managed to jump a bit away from the bike as it went down, pushing off the street with his right foot and rolling away.  The bike spun crazily and clipped Jack's leg hard as it wormed its way to a stop in the intersection.  He tried to stand in order to get out of the way of traffic and fell jerkily down on a median, grimacing as pain shot up his leg.  He looked down to see the left leg of his jeans torn and bloody, a deep gash filled with New York City's finest asphalt streaking down his leg.  Jack let out a soft moan and sat back on the median, taking off his helmet, head pounding.  

            The paramedics found Jack with his head in his hands, still on the median.  He had been oblivious to witnesses, several of whom had asked him if he was all right.  The blood had slowed, most of it washed away by the rain.  His bike had been moved onto the median and the scene generally looked much calmer than the panic Jack had felt when he knew he was going to wreck.  One of the medics carefully extracted Jack's head from his hands and inquired after the lawyer.

            "I'm fine," McCoy said softly, head threatening to explode.  "I just need something for my headache."

            "That's fine, sir, but you also have a bad leg injury.  We're going to take you to the hospital, okay? Mister--?"

            "Jack McCoy.  I don't need to go to a hospital, please, just give me something for my head," he pleaded.  The paramedic nodded up at his partner as the other rolled the stretcher over.

            "Lie back, Mr. McCoy.  There you go, just relax, please, we really need to have a doctor take a look at you, your leg doesn't look very good--"

            "My head--" Jack began.

            "--and we'll have him get you something for your headache.  Please.  There you go--all right, Tom, let's get him on."

            McCoy felt himself lifted and then was rolling along, while two men poked gently at him and asked him questions.  He was far too exhausted to answer and his head wouldn't permit an answer anyway.  Jack felt dizzy and funny, like he was unable to think clearly, and began to fade away when they popped him into the ambulance.  He remained dimly aware of what was going on, and roused himself enough to ask about his motorcycle.

            "The police will take care of it."

            He reminded himself that he worked with the police and was going to say he had his doubts when a searing pain exploded from his leg into his head and he faded completely.

            Jack McCoy woke in a clean and quiet room by himself and became immediately aware that his head was still aching.  Not with the insistent and merciless pounding of earlier, but with a faraway, dull throb.  Even with the pain, he was happy to be awake, for his dreams had been the stuff of nightmares.

            In one of the many, he had imagined himself and Claire Kincaid riding on his motorcycle, the day fine and sunny and Claire laughing as Jack pushed the bike to eighty, ninety.  He was laughing out loud when he saw a man step into the road and wave his arms.  Jack felt a rush of fear as he attempted to slow and couldn't, and shouted at Claire to hold on as the barreled up to the man.  In the instant before they hit him, Jack saw that it was his father, grinning wildly, shouting at Jack to give it his best shot.  Jack shivered as he remembered.  The last thing he wanted to do was think about Claire and his father in the same thought.

            Reaching down, Jack tentatively pulled the sheet off him, anticipating the worst.  He was happy to see his leg intact, although heavily bandaged.  He also had a light bandage on his right hand and several bruises and cuts all over.  He felt his head and was thankful he wasn't so macho as to ride a motorcycle without a helmet.

            He was reaching stiffly for the button next to his bed when the door opened and Detective Lennie Briscoe walked in.  He smiled at the lawyer and shook his head.

            "You know, I always thought you were addicted to something--it was that stupid bike."  He grinned and in spite of himself McCoy grinned back.

            "Detective Briscoe.  You're not here to bring me flowers, I think."  Jack's voice felt raw.  

            Briscoe walked up to the bed.  "Nah.  I was deputized by the DA.  He was too angry to come himself.  Plus I wanted to let you know we have your bike and all it's 2000 parts safe."

            Jack winced.  "It didn't look that bad."

            "It's not.  But it's not as pretty as it once was.  Neither are you."

            "Yeah.  Thanks for the sympathy.  I'd like to get out of here now," McCoy said frustrated.

            "I think they just kept you since you were cold out.  It wasn't anything big, although I guess you'll be sore for a long time.  I thought you didn't drink and drive."

            Jack stared angrily at Briscoe.  "And I thought you didn't drink and shoot off your mouth.  The road was too wet for me to stop.  I couldn't make the turn."

            "I was kidding.  We talked to some people, they knew the truck wasn't going to make the turn in time.  Just an accident.  No sweat."

            McCoy took a deep breath.  "I'm sorry, Detective.  I've been having a bad time lately."

            Briscoe was silent a few moments.  He sighed and looked straight at the lawyer.

            "I miss her too."

            They communicated silently, each afraid to say anything more.  Jack finally broke the stare.

            "Would you let someone know I'm ready to go?"

            "Sure.  Won't be long." Briscoe turned to go."

            "Detective?"

            Briscoe turned to face Jack again, who half sat up.  "Yes?"

            "Thank you."

            The detective nodded and left, glad to be out of the gaze of the explosive lawyer.  He summoned a doctor and in less than an hour, Jack McCoy was in a taxi on his way home.

            Jack had been given a liberal load of painkillers, antibiotics for infection, and aluminum crutches, which he wielded with dubious assurance.  He could still feel the pain when his leg swung forward, and gritted his teeth as he negotiated the path to the elevator, grateful in advance for the codeine in his pocket.  As the elevator rose, Jack looked down humorlessly at the bandage covering his leg from mid thigh to foot, his jeans haven been cut away in the ambulance so that he had a pair of half-shorts on.  The rest of his clothes looked just like he had been in an accident involving rolling on a wet and dirty street.  As the elevator door opened on his floor, Jack swung out and ran right into a neighbor, who opened his mouth to speak.  He took a look at Jack and his clothes and shut his mouth, stepping around the lawyer and into the elevator.  Jack watched him briefly before swinging down the hall to his door.  Fumbling with his keys, he managed to open the door without falling in and slammed it, breathing a deep relief.

            Without bothering with a drink, Jack reached into his jacket pocket and extracted the little bottle of prescription codeine he had received at the hospital pharmacy.  He struggled to get the top off, finally twisting it off hard and scattering a few pills in the process.

            "Shit," he grumbled, popping two of the pills in his mouth and dry-swallowing.  The pills hurt as they went down his dry throat but he immediately began to feel psychologically better.  He made his way across the room to his bedroom and eased himself carefully down on his unmade, blanket-heaped bed.  Clenching his teeth, he lifted his left leg onto the bed and dragged himself slowly back until he was sitting against the headboard.  Jack shook his head briefly, utterly disgusted with himself and his present situation.

            "Way to go, Jack," he muttered.  The dirt on his clothes was annoying him intensely--he hated to feel dirty, and other than pain that was all McCoy felt.  He twisted around to drop his crutches next to him then worked at removing his jacket and shirt--what was left of them.  He was vaguely annoyed to notice he had several holes in his jacket as he took it off, tossing it toward his closet in a half-hearted attempt to be neat.  His shirt was more trouble, as the bandage on his stiff right hand made it difficult to unbutton it.  He struggled briefly with it for a minute, then angrily ripped the shirt open, popping several buttons across the room.

            "Jesus God," he said as he finally pulled the shirt off and threw it the direction his jacket had gone.  McCoy looked carefully at his chest and stomach, noting each bruise.  The largest was one stretching from mid ribcage down across his stomach and fading near his waist.  His knee had been driven hard into him as he rolled away from the bike into the street.  

            Jack slowly fumbled with the button on his jeans, thankful that he hadn't been wearing button-flys.  I'd be in the damn things forever he thought without humor.  He managed to pop it open with less trouble than his shirt and slowly began to ease his pants down, taking care to be extra slow and cautious.  Deep inside his unconscious, Jack made a cursory check of all vital private organs and unconsciously sighed with relief, a purely primal reaction--he knew he hadn't been seriously hurt anywhere vital.  Getting his pants off was only half-hard, as one pants leg had been cut completely away.  He pushed and kicked and finally with a whoop of relief kicked the jeans off his right leg and onto the floor.

            McCoy was far more tired by the effort than he should have been, and wanted only to sleep.  But his body ached to be clean and warm and he knew he'd have to take a bath--showers were totally out of the question.  Jack carefully edged himself across his bed, towards his bathroom.  He tucked the crutches under his arms and heaved himself up, teetering for a second until he found his balance, swinging slowly into the bathroom.

            The fearsome sight that looked back at him in the mirror was only the minimal amount of Jack McCoy required for him to be recognizable to himself.  His hair was tousled and shiny, face nearly bearded and eyes too bright with exhaustion.  He groaned and looked away, leaning over to run the water for a bath.  He turned on the hot water as high as he could stand and sat impatiently on the closed toilet while it filled halfway.  The water cried out to him and he worked his boxers off clumsily before risking the tub.

            Jack made it nearly all the way into the tub before he overbalanced and fell in backwards.  A short cry escaped him before he settled back, left leg awkwardly stuck out over the side of the bathtub, body aching.  The warmth immediately began to swoop through his body and McCoy felt his pain begin to lessen, the codeine helping things along.  He dunked his head under the steaming water and felt some of his headache leave.  For the first time in nearly a week, Jack McCoy felt he was almost alive.

Part 2

            "Stop it, Jack!"

            Claire Kincaid's voice rose high over their laughter, as she struggled to get out of an enormous bear hug placed on her by Jack McCoy.  He grinned down at her and leaned back, picking her just up off the ground and moving toward the fountain.  Right before he was about to drop her feet first into the water she landed a kick on one of his shins and he let her go, hopping to the edge of the fountain and sitting, a bemused look on his face.  Claire sat next to him, face red and eyes wet from laughing.  Jack glanced up from rubbing his shin and tried to frown.

            "What'd you do that for?" he asked.  She smiled and slapped his leg.

            "You weren't going to dump me in that water!"

            He straightened, trying to look indignant.  McCoy held the look for a second, then a huge grin broke on his face.  "All right, guilty.  One to three?"  She reached up and pushed back strands of hair that had fallen into his eyes.

            "Life, counselor."  And she leaned over to kiss him.

            "Claire."

            Jack McCoy jerked awake, half sitting up.  The water in the bath had gone cold and he felt shivers running through him.  He relaxed back, trying to remember all of his dream.  He could just barely recall Claire's face, and her laughter.  Jack splashed his face with the water, running his hand over his stubbly chin.  His body felt vaguely sore, like he had been in a fight recently.  *Thank God for drugs,* he thought.

            It was a struggle to get out of the bathtub.  Several times McCoy was convinced he would be found dead in it, but he finally managed to drag himself out and lay in exhaustion on the tiled floor, tiredly passing a towel over his body.  It was another several minutes before he was able to stand up and get his crutches.  Jack leaned on them while he peered into the mirror, slowly wiping a clear space to see himself.  He looked for a long while, noting how drawn and tired he looked.  Reaching to get his razor, he stopped himself with an angry grunt.

            "What the hell for?" he asked himself.  Jack carefully went back to his bed, lay down gently, and pulled his covers around him, trying to gain some warmth from them as the sheets soaked the rest of his bath off him.  He turned on his side and fell asleep nearly immediately, trying not to dream.

            Jack slept through the phone ringing and was surprised when he woke up the next day to hear the answering machine beeping.  He rolled onto his back and that was when he felt the pain flood back into him.  A small groan escaped him as he scrabbled on the table next to his bed for the codeine.  He cursed out loud as he remembered they were in his jacket pocket.  Flinging his covers off, McCoy grabbed a crutch and tried snaring his jacket from the bed.  Realizing he wasn't going to reach it, he fought himself up and over to the jacket, leaning down awkwardly and snatching the bottle from the pocket.  Jack nearly fell the distance to the bed and a short scream escaped him as he hit the bed.  He popped two pills and forced his breathing to slow, the pain in his leg leaping into his head and causing lights to spin before his eyes.  He lay half on the bed for several minutes until he felt he could move.

            There was precious little in McCoy's kitchen for food--he had failed to leave a shopping list for his cleaning lady and he settled for a glass of orange juice to wash the metallic taste out of his mouth.  He sat awkwardly down at his kitchen table and reached out to hit the play button on the answering machine, cradling his chin in one hand as it whirred and clicked.

            "Jack?  Hey, it's Kate, Jack, are you there?  I guess not.  I heard what happened to Claire.  I'm so sorry.  I wanted to see if you were okay...so call me?  You never do, big brother, but hey, if you need anything...just call, okay?  Bye Jack."

            The machine beeped off.  Jack was tempted to replay the message.  It had been a long, long time since he had thought about his sister.  At one time, they had been very close, but since she had moved they no longer spoke.  He felt a flush of shame as he realized how long he had been out of touch.  

            Jack stretched and brought the phone to him.  He had to think for several moments to bring up his sister's phone number, and thought several more to calculate the time difference.  The clock on his wall read eight thirty and the night had fallen.  She might be home, he thought, and punched the numbers into the phone.

            The line buzzed several times and Jack was about to hang up when he heard his sister's voice, rushed and annoyed. "Yes?"

            "Hi Kate.  Jack."  He heard a brief intake of breath and a faint clatter.  "Sorry, are you busy, I can--"

            "No!  Don't you dare.  I was outside, that's all.  Let me sit."

            "You sitting?"

            "Yeah.  Jack, it's good to hear your voice--I think.  How are you?"

            Jack poked at molecules on the table, drawing a hand over the surface.  "Uh.  Well, not good.  It's been a bit rough.  I guess Adam called you?"

            "Yes, boy was I surprised.  But I talk to him more than you anyway.  I'm so sorry about Claire, Jack.  Adam says they're not sure?"

            He felt his throat tighten and swallowed past a lump.  "No, not yet.  Still--still in a coma."  Jack shut his mouth quickly with a snap.

            "Sorry.  How are you doing?"

            "I'm on vacation.  Adam's idea--two weeks.  I wasn't being very effective at work.  Um--and I wrecked my bike."  Jack heard her surprise.

            "Oh Jack!  Are you okay, are you hurt?"  He was ashamed of having caused his sister to worry. Great brother you are, Jack.  

            "A little busted-up.  Bike's worse off than I am.  I'm okay, Kate."

            "You sure?"

            "Yes.  How are you doing?  I was sleeping when you called, I didn't get the message 'til tonight.  Thanks for calling."

            "I'm fine.  I figured you were working.  Adam's call concerned me, but for some reason I didn't get around to calling until yesterday.  I sort of felt--well, that maybe you were in trouble."

            Jack exhaled slowly.  "Hm.  I don't know yet.  I--I just don't know, maybe I am.  So much has happened, it's--"

            He stopped, feeling his eyes stinging with tears and his throat close up.  A soft sob escaped and at the other end of the line Katherine McCoy Grady's heart clenched.  She wanted to say something to her brother but was at a loss, only able to hear him try to quiet his emotions.

            Jack McCoy fought his misery down, drawing breath raggedly.  "I'm sorry," he finally managed.

            "Jack, don't.  It's okay, it's me.  Hey.  Tell me."

            "I don't think I can.  I can't."

            "What are you going to do then?  Jack, you have to talk.  Please."

            McCoy felt his pain welling again and closed his eyes hard.  He knew his sister meant well, she always meant well.  But he was unable to think about Claire Kincaid on that bed, still, silent, not able to move.  It drove him mad.

            "Kate, I'm sorry.  I'm going out of my head here.  I need some time."

            "You have two weeks.  Plenty of time--look, Jack.  Come out here."

            Jack was surprised.  He had never been to his sister's Colorado home, the home she shared with her husband of twelve years and their two kids.  He was instantly going to reject the idea, thinking he would be lousy company and unable to relax, but before he could say anything the idea began to take hold of his mind.

            "Kate, you don't know what you're saying," he said softly, still mulling the offer over.

            "For God's sake, Jack, shut up.  You can't stay in New York and we don't have any other family.  It'll be good for you--and I'd like it too."

            "Hmm...really?  Kate, I am really interested, I can't say I'm not.  But--well, I'd be lousy company, and you know Tom doesn't like me all that much."

            Jack heard his sister snort.  "Tom likes you, he just thinks you can't stop being a lawyer.  And besides, he's on the rig this month.  I'm alone except for the kids anyway."

            "How're JJ and Mary?" His niece and nephew were almost unknown to their Uncle Jack.  He dutifully sent birthday gifts, but hadn't seen them for over two years, the last time the family had come to New York for a visit.  Even though the boy was named after him, Jack reckoned he had only seen him seven or eight times.  "What are they now, eight, ten?"

            "JJ's ten, Mary's seven.  They're fine, now come on, tell me.  Will you come out?  I really want you to, Jack.  I mean, think of me too.  I'd like to see my big brother."

            Jack was silent for a few seconds, thinking fast.  *Lord, I wanna go, it'd be so nice to leave this shithole and get far away...but Claire.  What about Claire, what if something happens, oh God, what if something happens to Claire?* he thought.  Then *And what if it does, McCoy?  What could you do?*

            Jack mentally shrugged and sighed out loud.  A very small smile appeared on his face.  

            "You know, you're right.  I'd love to go.  Are you sure I can, it's okay?  I mean, the kids are there, right?"  He heard his sister laugh.

            "Well, yes, but they're in school during the day, Jack.  And I can pack them off for a few if we want to have some time to ourselves.  Please come."

            "You know--I think you're right, kid.  I can leave here tomorrow, I just--I want to see Claire before I go, one more time.  That all right?"

            "That's great.  Call me and tell me when you're coming in, and I'll pick you up.  I can't wait to see you, brother.  I love you, you know that," Kate said, something she and Jack rarely heard from each other.

            "I love you.  Thanks again--I had a feeling you'd come through for me, Kate.  I can't wait either."  Jack winced as pain in his leg flared.  "Oh, Kate, let me get off the phone.  I feel much better lying down right now.  I'll call you tomorrow, all right?"

            "Okay, Jack.  Good night."

            "Night, Kate."

            McCoy struggled up and hung up the phone.  He contemplated the seeming ludicrousness of his present situation; middle-aged lawyer, brilliant career, bad personal life, occasionally too much to drink, significant other lying in the hospital, standing in his kitchen naked with a bandage on his leg caused by wrecking his motorcycle.  Jack laughed out loud as he was struck by the silliness, particularly of the bike accident.  

            "Jesus God.  Jack McCoy, you have a lot to deal with right now.  I think it's time you went back to bed."  And he swung back into his bedroom, the codeine making him feel pleasantly fuzzy.  He made sure the little bottle with the codeine in it was next to his bed, took one of the antibiotics, and lay back down. 

            McCoy kept shutting his eyes in hopes he would fall asleep, but whenever he started to doze, he would think of Claire Kincaid and his eyes would swoop open.  After fifteen minutes of this, he pulled himself up in bed, saddened.  Jack reached for the phone on his bed stand and punched a well-remembered number.  He waited through the buzzes.

            "Hello, this is Claire Kincaid.  Sorry, I can't get to the phone, but if you leave a number and message I'll get back to you as soon as I can.  Thanks."

            Jack felt the tears sliding down his face and angrily wiped them away.  He just wanted to hear her voice again.  He hung up and dialed again, listening to the message.

            "Claire.  Oh Claire, it's Jack.  I'm so sorry, I'm sorry I upset you, Jesus.  Please get better, Claire.  It's killing me, I miss you so much, God, listen to me.  You're not there.  I--I just wanted to hear your voice, babe." Jack took a weak and hitching breath.  "I'm sorry.  I love you.  I love you, Claire."

            Jack hung up the phone and pressed his fists against his eyes, trying to prevent the sobs escaping.  He failed and great wracking cries came out, angry and pained.  Jack allowed himself to cry as he never had, freely and with abandon, forgetting who he was and what he tried to be.  For once the pain in his leg was forgotten as he bent forward, covers clenched in his fists against his face.

            It was twenty minutes before McCoy stopped sobbing, his tears having stopped some time earlier but his cries continuing.  He dropped back against the headboard, eyes red, and let out a final long breath.  He felt tired and hurt, but somehow better.

            "Jesus.  That was something," he muttered to himself.  When he was sure his voice was under control, he picked up the phone again and dialed the hospital.  A nurse at the ICU answered and he asked his question.

            "No, Mr. McCoy.  There's no change.  She's stable, but no reactions so far."

            "All right.  Thank you.  I'm going to stop in tomorrow--earliest is when?"

            "Nine."

            "Thank you."

            Jack hung up and slid down in his bed.  He sighed as he pulled his covers around him and pulled them up under his chin.  He would go see Claire and then call the airport and Kate.  *As far as I'm concerned, we can forget these last two days,* he thought as he was finally able to close his eyes and sleep.

Part 3

            McCoy woke out of a languid dream in which he and Claire were having dinner at her apartment, fairly early in their relationship.  He had been on his absolute best and most chivalrous behavior, and he saw that Claire knew he was being a bit reserved.

            "Come on, Jack, I haven't seen you this quiet since you lost the Bannerson case.  You're being nice, and I appreciate it."  She had smiled at his raised brows.

            "I am nice, Claire.  I'm just trying to let you down easy," he said with a smile.  He ducked the breadstick she threw at him.  "Hey!"

            "Just be yourself, Jack.  I'm not interested in your idea of what I want.  I want--"

            "What?"

            She smiled again at him.  "You.  Just you."  She had stood and walked around to Jack in his chair.  He pushed back from the table and looked up at her, wondering once again at the delicacy of her face and body.

            "What do you want, Jack?" she asked softly, looking down on him.  Jack reached up and took one of her hands, squeezing it lightly, and was unable to keep her gaze.  He looked down.

            "I think--no.  I want you, Claire.  I do."  Claire reached down and tilted his face up to her.  The candles on the table struck prisms in their eyes and McCoy was fascinated by the depth in hers.  "I do," he repeated, meaning it for only the second time in his life.

            "Good."  She pulled him up and wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on her toes.  He circled her waist with his arms and held her close, too aware of her perfume and femininity, and stared down into her liquid eyes.  She touched his face gently, for the first time, and a pleasant shiver ran through Jack.  He moved one of his hands up and ran it over her hair, teasing it loose of its ponytail.  Jack was fascinated by her, the softness of her skin and fine texture of her hair.  He was unable to suppress a small laugh and grin.  Claire smiled up at him.

            "What?" she asked.

            "I just thought you wouldn't like me.  I was worried for a while."  Jack shrugged.  "I have a reputation, you know, and I can be a jerk."

            "I know all about you, Jack McCoy.  And I still like you.  Go figure," she said, in great humor.  He sighed and held her closer, breathing in deep her soft scent.

            Jack let go, holding her hands, and looked intensely into her eyes.

            "Thank God," he said quietly, amazement and respect in his voice.  "Thank God you do like me, Claire Kincaid.  I don't know what I would have done."

            He bent down hesitantly and she reached out to him, drawing him in for a long kiss.  They tried to make all the length of their bodies touch, reveling in the sweeping emotions running through them both.  She guided him backwards, still kissing, to her deep couch and fell with him onto it.  Jack landed with a small oof and they broke the kiss.  She caressed his face lightly as he idly smoothed her hair.

            "You have the most wonderful hair," he said.  "So soft."

            "Yours--getting so gray."  Claire smiled at him.

            "I'll let that pass.  Claire--you aren't thinking I'm a jerk, are you?  Pulling my chain?  You'd kill me, you know that?"

            She lightly tapped his forehead, smoothing across his brow.  "You think too much, Jack.  I don't play games, and neither do you--at least, I hope you don't outside the courtroom."

            "No," he said simply, pulling her back down for a kiss.

            It had been one of the most intense nights of either of their lives, time dragging slowly along as they moved through Claire's apartment, languidly kissing in a doorway, against the mantel, clothes being scattered everywhere.  By the time they made it to the bed each was completely absorbed in the other--their bodies, breathing, smell, taste.  Jack allowed himself to be as open as he ever had, trusting implicitly that Claire would not hurt him.  She shed her fears and doubts and let herself fall into the moment, and into Jack.             They made love slowly and remained entwined in each other afterwards until falling asleep, the beginning of dawn breaking across the sky.

            Jack McCoy woke from this dream with a soft sigh, slowly waking and enjoying the dream until it faded from his memory.  He felt a slight sadness tugging at him and accepted it as part of worrying about--and loving--Claire.  The acceptance made it easier for McCoy to get up and wander into the bathroom.  He shaved, watching the Jack McCoy of old appear under the beard, leaning easily on his crutches.  Jack felt calmer and much better, chalking it up to the codeine and the vacation to come.  

            He swung back into his bedroom and started looking for something to wear.  It was still too wet and cold outside for shorts.  Jack pulled an old pair of jeans from his drawer, along with a black T-shirt and black boxer shorts.  He threw these on the bed, moving back into the bathroom for the scissors.  

            He sat back on the bed with a sigh.  I guess I better do this for a couple more pairs, Jack thought as he began to cut the left leg off his jeans.  He wondered idly when he might be able to take the bandage off, and shrugged the thought off.  He wasn't interested in how the stitches looked.  The doctor had mentioned coming in every week.  Jack thought he'd get it checked in Colorado.

            Jeans cut, Jack pulled on his boxers and pants carefully, favoring his leg.  He pulled on his T-shirt and felt better fully dressed.  Shoes and socks were going to be a different matter.  He debated not wearing one on his left foot and voted that down.  Too cold.  His tennis shoes were in the closet and he fished them out and a pair of cotton socks.  It took him some time to get the left sock worked on and he was sweating lightly by the time he carefully pulled his shoe on.  He felt a tiny flare of pain as his swollen foot adapted to the shoe.  Pulling on the other, he stood and went out to the kitchen.

            Jack phoned the airlines and managed to get a flight to Denver in the late afternoon, then called the hospital.  No change.  He braced himself mentally for the trip and called a taxi.  Checking around, he grabbed a  light jacket and his keys, chucked the codeine in his pocket after washing one down with orange juice, and swung easily out.

            A minor feeling of dread settled on Jack when the taxi left him at the hospital.  He took the elevator up and stepped out into the ICU, a silent and still place.  The nurse at the station told him he could stop in for a few moments, but not long, and Jack thanked her and moved down the hall to Claire's room.

            The room was quiet, a faint humming and beeping emitting from the machines around the bed Claire Kincaid lay in.  Jack shut the door softly and moved next to the bed.  In spite of himself tears rolled down his face as he pulled a chair next to the bed and sat.

            "Claire?  It's Jack.  I was hoping--well, hoping you'd be awake.  I guess it's not time yet.

            "Oh God.  Claire, I'm so sorry, I don't know how many times I've told you that.  I can't forget you were upset with me.  And I can't believe that's you lying there."  Jack swallowed the lump in his throat.  

            "I'm going away for a little--Adam thinks it's best.  He's right.  I haven't been much good for anything lately.  And I haven't had a break for a long time.  I'm going to see my sister--you haven't met her, she's great.  I'm taking two weeks.  Just wanted to tell you, see you before I went."

            Jack reached out and touched Claire's hand, punctured by an IV.  He was frightened by the coolness of it.  A glance at the monitor above her told him that she was indeed still alive.  He looked back down at her, new tears in his eyes.

            "Get well, please.  Claire, please get better, wake up.  I can't lose you now," he said softly.  "Not now.  I love you."

            Jack leaned over and kissed Claire's hair, lingering just a moment, wanting to feel a reaction from her.  He closed his eyes and said a short prayer, standing.  Glancing once more at the still figure on the bed, Jack turned and walked back out slowly, feeling once more like he'd been struck by lightning.

            The rest of the day passed quickly, Jack packing and making some phone calls.  After calling his sister, he phoned work.  Adam Schiff was thrilled to hear McCoy was going to Colorado.

            "Excellent.  Maybe you can straighten yourself out down there," he said.  Jack laughed.

            "Not me.  But I think it'll help me deal with--some things.  I'll let you know when I'm on my way back, Adam.  And hey--thanks for kicking me out of the office.  I needed it."

            "My pleasure.  Don't make me kick you out permanently.  Have a good time," Schiff said, hanging up.  Jack smiled at that and continued packing.

            Jack McCoy was annoyed by airports.  Everyone was in far too much of a hurry and the flights were constantly late.  He contained his frustration well, happy to be leaving New York.  Although his flight was half an hour late taking off, Jack was feeling good and even excited.

            The flight attendants were excellent in first-class--normally Jack didn't care how he flew, but in this case, because of his injury, he had been bumped up to first.  He knocked down two drinks and stopped himself from having another.  He was becoming aware lately, mostly due to Claire, how much he could drink and often did.  The attendants brought him glass after glass of orange juice as Jack enjoyed the comfort of the first-class seat.  He had almost dozed off, a half-read Time magazine on his chest, when the plane began its descent into Denver.  Jack sat up, feeling the pressure change in his leg, and checked his watch.  *An hour late.  Why do we pay so much to fly?  Sure ain't for speed,* Jack thought as the plane rumbled onto the runway.  

            Fifteen minutes later, McCoy was working his way up the walkway into the airport.  He squinted around, scanning the crowd for Kate, when he heard a high, unfamiliar voice shout "Uncle Jack!"

            Jack turned his head to see Kate, preceded by two running children he assumed were his niece and nephew.  *Jesus, they're big!* he marveled as they stopped just short of him, excitement in their eyes.  The little girl fairly bounced with excitement and the boy eagerly looked jack up and down.

            "Hey, Uncle Jack, what happened to your leg?" the boy asked.  Kate came up behind them, a half-serious look on her face.

            "Your uncle's been playing too hard with his toys, JJ," she said, circling around the children and throwing her arms around Jack.  "Hey, big brother."          

            Jack hugged her with one arm.  "Hey, kid, Good to see you."

            They let go, Kate linking one finger through Jack's belt loop.  "I like what you did with the jeans.  I understand torn jeans are all the rage."

            "Ha ha.  Funny.  So--you two must be Mary, and John James."

            The boy squinched up his face.  "Ugh.  I'm JJ.  Pleased to meet you, sir," he said, sticking out a small hand which Jack shook.  Mary also held out her hand and Jack managed to lean down and kiss it.  She beamed brightly at him.

              "I know who you are.  You haven't seen me for a long time, JJ, but I was one of the first to hold you.  You're named after me, you know."

            "Yes sir.  You're John James McCoy, Executive Assistant District Attorney.  But everyone calls you Jack, Uncle Jack."  The boy recited.  "I like JJ, though," he added.

            Jack laughed.  He was hugely amused and felt happy.  "I like it too.  But I don't think it sounds right in court.  I'll stick with Jack--you stick with JJ."

            "Come on, all you kids.  Uncle Jack must be hungry and tired.  Your stuff all under the plane?" she asked, beginning to guide Jack through the airport.  The kids followed, JJ carrying Jack's carryon duffel.  For once, it was a brief wait for his luggage and then they were out, loading his things into Kate's car and spinning off into the Colorado night.

            The kids were well-behaved and quiet in the back as Kate drove.  Jack turned in his seat to talk to the kids.

            "JJ, Mary, if you look inside that duffel bag there you'll see something I got you in New York before I came," he said.

            "Ma, can we?" Mary asked.  Jack looked amusedly at his sister.

            "Give 'em an inch, you know," she said.  "It's okay, Mary, go ahead."

            JJ excitedly unzipped the bag and came up whooping with two New York Yankees baseball caps.  He slapped his on his head and gave Mary hers.

            "Cool, Uncle Jack!  Look ma, Yankees!" he said.  Mary was equally excited and put hers on.

            "How'd you now our size, Uncle Jack?" Mary asked.  Jack smiled.

            "I guessed.  You like 'em?" he asked.

            "Oh yeah!  They have the Rockies here, but I like the Yankees better," JJ answered.

            "Me too.  We watch them with dad whenever we can," Mary said.

            "Thanks, Jack.  That was nice," Kate said.  "They love the Yankees.  Something to do with the fact their loving uncle is a big cheese there.  They think you know all the players."  He smiled.

            "Well, I yelled something at Derek Jeter last year, and look where he is.  Rookie of the Year."

            "Do you see lots of baseball, Uncle Jack?" JJ asked, worrying the brim of the cap into the shape he wanted.

            "Not much, JJ.  A few games, I'm usually too busy.  I'd like to see more."

            "I'd like to see the Yankees at home one day," Mary said.

            "Maybe the next time you come visit, I can take you," Jack said.  The kids brightened even more.

            "Mom!  Can we go see Uncle Jack in New York?" JJ asked quickly.

            "Kids, we just got him to come out here.  Maybe next year, sometime in the summer, okay?"

            "'Kay, ma," both kids said in unison.  They lapsed back into happy silence after thanking Jack again, shaping the cap brims carefully.

            McCoy turned around again, a smile playing on his face.  "I thought I should get them something," he said finally.  Kate nodded.

            "It was really nice of you.  I thought you wouldn't think of it, and they weren't expecting anything."

            "I am not a complete boor, Kate.  I even got you something."

            "Yankees hat?" she asked with a smile.  Jack laughed again.

            "No.  Something a little less classy."

            "Ho ho."

            Jack stared out into the night.  "How long to this place of yours?  Where is it again?"

            "Outside Estes Park.  I forget you've never been here.  We have--oh, hour and a half or so still.  Hope you don't get nosebleeds in high altitudes."  She glanced over at Jack, who seemed fascinated by the stars glowing in the dark sky.

            "I was thinking my ears were popping.  God, Kate.  The sky is so different out here.  It's like--powder up there," he said wonderingly.

            "You probably don't see too many in the city.  Lights are way too bright there."

            "Yeah.  I think the stars refuse to shine on New York.  We have far too many of our own star-wannabes.  It's really beautiful."

            Kate glanced up.  "Yep.  The only place I've seen them better is Alaska.  Great Northern Lights, too."

            Jack turned to her.  "Tom out there now?"

            "Yes.  It's only one month every six.  He doesn't have to go--he's just too conscientious.  And he refuses to think about leaving Colorado--so twice a year, for a month--poof.  Off to the oil fields."

            McCoy touched his sister's arm.  "Lonely?" he asked.

            She smiled sadly.  "Sometimes, Jack.  You'd think after twelve years I wouldn't miss him as much.  But I do."

            "I wish I had had that kind of marriage--then again, maybe I don't," Jack finished, becoming thoughtful.  Kate held his hand.

            "How is she doing, Jack?"

            "The same.  Nothing's changed, I saw her right before I left."  He managed to stop his breath from hitching.  "They don't know for sure yet."

            Kate noted the sadness in his voice and her heart skipped a beat.  Her brother was so in love with Claire.  It came through in his voice and body.

            "I'm sorry.  We'll pray she's okay, Jack.  You two were so close," she said, giving him the opening.

            Jack took it.  "In love.  Really and completely for me.  I think for her too.  But--we had a kind of--disagreement the last time I saw her.  It hasn't made it easier."  Kate squeezed Jack's hand.  

            "I'm glad you're in love, big brother.  I had hoped.  It seems it's good for you."

            "You seem rather observant."

            "It's fairly obvious, Jack.  Even if I haven't seen you for forever."

            Jack leaned over and hugged Kate with one arm.  "That's why I love you.  You see past my charm to the jerk inside."

            "And I love you anyway."

            They remained silent most of the rest of the drive, enjoying being in each other's company, the kids gradually dropping off to sleep.  Jack felt his ears pop again and again as they drove up into the Rockies.  Occasionally the moon would light the road and Jack could see a cavernous drop-off down the side of the mountain road.  He closed his eyes and turned away, trusting that his sister knew exactly what she was doing.

            Kate finally turned off into an unmarked road four miles outside the tourist trap of Estes Park, the car bumping down an unpaved road for another half-mile.  Jack saw the outline of a sprawling home take shape, a two story brick and log house with  several adjacent buildings.  Some horses wandered idly around behind the house and Jack began to understand the extent of his sister's home.

            "This is huge, Kate.  Way larger than I thought.  It's great."

            "You've been living too long in that box in the city.  How long's it been since you had a yard?"

            "Not since I left college and the rooming house.  I don't think I'd know what to do with one.  Mow it, I suppose."

            Kate smiled at him.  "You'd forget.  Wake the kids, Jack.  We're home."

            Jack felt a faint thrill at hearing the word home.  He turned and reached over to shake JJ.

            "Hey, kids.  Time to get up, you're home.  Wake up."

            JJ blinked awake and silently prodded Mary up.  They sat blinking in the back, Yankees caps turned sideways.  Jack smiled at them.

            "Home, kids," Kate called out.  She  pulled the car up next to the porch and the kids tumbled out easily, JJ quickly coming around to open Jack's door.  Jack was amused at his nephew's solicitousness and grinned.  He had some trouble getting out and Kate came around to pull him out.  Mary looked on in wonder.

            "That hurt, Uncle Jack?" she finally asked.

            "Not much.  Sometimes, Mary, but not always."

            "I broke my arm once, and that hurt a lot," JJ said seriously.

            "I bet.  Give me a hand here, JJ, will you?  Give me that other crutch?"

            JJ sprang to action and Jack managed, with Kate's help, to negotiate the stairs as JJ and Mary got the luggage out of the car.  Jack twisted around to them.

            "Hey, it's okay, kids," he said as he saw them struggling with the pieces.

            "No sir!" JJ said, puffing under his load.  "We can do it!"

            "Uh-huh," Mary said, lugging a mid-size bag up the stairs.  Jack turned to his sister.

            "They are wonderful--how much you pay them?" he asked.

            "Not as much as you get paid.  Come on, Jack.  Welcome to our home."

Part 4

            Jack's bed was to be in the den on the first floor, decided upon when Kate realized he wasn't going to be able to take the stairs.  The large sofa in there opened into a bed and JJ wrestled it open while Kate cleared a space in the closet for Jack's clothes.  She noted with amusement the three pairs of one-legged jeans Jack had packed.

            "What are you laughing at?" he asked her while he pulled clothes from his duffel.

            "I like this, Jack," she said, holding up a pair of jeans.  "Will you wear them this way when you get better?"

            "Shut up.  I just hope I can wear regular pants before I have to go back to work.  Hey, JJ, are you sure you have that?"

            "I'm fine, Uncle Jack--whoa!--there, see?" JJ said, proudly pointing to the open sleeper.

            "That's great, JJ.  You and Mary get the things for Uncle Jack out of the upstairs rooms, okay?"

            The kids ran out and upstairs.  Jack threw his last few shirts on the floor of the closet and stumbled over to sit on the bed with a tired sigh.  Kate picked the shirts up and arranged them on the hangers.

            "Jack, you're a total mess, you know that?" she asked with humor.  She turned and was surprised to see Jack looking faintly sad.  Kate went over and sat next to him.

            "How'd you know?" he finally asked.

            "What?"

            "That I'm a mess."

            "Oh Jack, I meant that as a joke.  I know you must be feeling terrible.  I don't want to make it worse, I want you to have a good time here, and maybe get some old energy back.  this is the quietest I remember you being since you were a kid."

            Jack turned dark eyes to her.  "I was thinking about that recently.  Dad was in a dream I had, the son of a bitch," he said bitterly.  Kate held his hand.

            "We'll talk about him later.  When the kids are gone, okay?  For now, just sleep," she said as Mary and JJ trooped back in with towels and blankets and pillows.

            "Is this all, ma?" Mary asked.  She and JJ put the things on the bed.

            "It looks like it.  You two get to bed, you have school.  I'll help Uncle Jack.  Say goodnight."

            Mary came to Jack and threw her arms around him.  "G'night, Uncle Jack, I hope you feel better."

            Jack was surprised.  "Thanks, Mary.  Sleep well."

            Mary went out after kissing her mother and JJ also gave Jack a hug.  "Good night, Uncle Jack.  I hope we get to go somewhere soon," he said, looking at his mother.

            "Me too.  'Night."

            "Get on, JJ.  Give me a kiss--okay, get to bed, and no reading!"

            "Okay, ma.  Love you," JJ said and scrambled after his sister.  Kate watched him go.

            "They are incredible, Kate, just great.  You have to be proud," Jack said seriously.

            "I am.  It's a hell of a lot of work."

            Jack stood again, leaning on his crutches.  "You know, you can go to sleep too.  I can manage all right."

            "Jack, sit down.  You don't even know where anything is.  Let me make your bed--sit there, that chair--and then we can talk if you want.  So shut up and sit down."

            Jack smiled and sat in a deep chair as Kate bustled around tucking and fluffing.  He admired his sister immensely, even more so after he had seen the kids.  She had always been the better, more organized, and generally nicer one.

            "You haven't changed, Kate," he said.  She placed his pillows on the bed and turned.

            "How?"

            "You were always so good at all this as a kid.  Me, I still don't make my bed half the time.  And I could never have raised a kid."

            She came over and sat on the floor in front of him.  "Jack, you have always ragged on yourself.  I wish you'd stop it.  You're a grown man--well, one with a stupid love of dangerous toys."

            He grinned.  "I know.  But hey--it's not like we had toys growing up."

            Kate noted the darkening of his voice.  She sighed inwardly.  If that's what he wants to talk about...

            "You had that idiotic dart board.  And I had books.  I didn't want toys," she said.  Jack looked down at her.

            "Yes you did.  So did I.  I hated that game.  And I'm too good at it.  I remember once we both wanted--what was it?  I think we wanted jacks, or marbles, something stupid and small.  Mom actually went behind the old man's back--they didn't cost much, so small, she was thinking.  And--"

            Kate blinked back hesitant tears.  Jack McCoy, why have you always been able to make me cry? she wondered.  "--and he found out and Mom got hell.  I know."

            "I'm--hey, I'm sorry, Kate.  You know, you'd think that after such a long time I'd have gotten over all this.  But I can't.  It's made me who I am.  I don't know how to live outside it."

            Kate stood and went behind Jack, rubbing his shoulders.  He placed his hands on hers and looked up at her.

            "You're thinking, 'Why did I bring this asshole back into my life?', right?"

            "If I thought that, you'd be out of here.  I love you Jack, let's see if we can't help each other out, okay?"

            "You have the perfect life.  I can't help you."

            She laughed.  "Just because I didn't scream as much as you or get hit doesn't mean it didn't affect me too.  There's stuff I haven't even told Tom.  Maybe I can only share those with you.  I don't know."

            Jack pulled her around to face him in the chair.  "If I can help you, I will.  I'm sorry I haven't kept in touch.  Sometimes I think I live in New York so I can hide and no one can really find me."

            "You know, I think that's why I like living here.  No neighbors for miles."  She sighed and helped him stand.  "You want to take a bath first, Jack?"

            "No.  The bathroom's where?  There?"

            "Yeah.  Towels're there on your bed.  I'm going to bed.  I have to drop the kids off at school at eight-thirty, so if I'm not here just look around.  I'll be back by nine."

            "All right--hey, thanks a lot, kid.  You probably saved my life," McCoy said gratefully.  They hugged once more.

            "You might save yourself.  Good night, Jack.  Sleep well."

            "Good night.  See you tomorrow."

            He watched his sister go and close the door, then sat on the bed and began to undress.  The overwhelming quiet of the place struck him as hugely different from the hum of the city, and he sat for a minute just listening.  Only the occasional rush of wind told him that there was anything outside at all.

            Undressed, he swung over to the bathroom, swiping a towel on the way.  Jack splashed his face and rubbed it hard, looking again at himself in the mirror.  He thought he saw the person he knew as Jack McCoy there, but it looked far away.  He shrugged and went out to the bed, laying very carefully down.  Jack had placed the bottle of codeine next to the bed and considered it briefly.  He hadn't felt much pain and thought it would be a good idea not to take one--*last thing I need is a drug habit right now,* he thought, and smiled.  He had skirted the edge of a drinking habit for a long while, and Claire had been instrumental in keeping him further away from the edge than he himself could.

            "Claire, I hope you're well.  Good night, babe," he said softly before clicking off the lamp and pulling up the blankets to sleep.  For once, his sleep was dreamless and heavy.

Part 5

            A diffused light filtered through the windows in the den and Jack McCoy blinked himself awake.  He stared in wonder at the light, which held a softer quality than New York's smog-colored air.  A brief check of his watch told him it was ten after nine.  He felt rested and content, and for the first time his leg did not pain him as he got up.  He shrugged on his T-shirt and boxers and made his way out the door.

            Jack stood there for  minute, looking at his sister's large dining room, and trying to get his bearings.  He heard faint clinking sounds to his right and swung in that direction.

            Kate was there, fiddling with the coffee pot and generally making breakfast.  Jack smiled at her industriousness.

            "Hey there, kid," he said.  She turned and smiled at him.

            "Hey yourself.  Nice legs--well, leg, Jack."

            He laughed and sat at the kitchen table.  "Thanks so much.  I have to remember to get a doc to check this leg.  I think the bandage has to be changed sometime."

            "Well, yeah, Jack.  There's a clinic in Estes Park, we can go whenever you like.  Coffee?" she asked, setting a cup before him.

            "Thanks.  What's for breakfast?  You seem to have been sort of busy."

            "I can't stand not eating breakfast.  How's 'bout an omelette?"  She smiled as Jack brightened.

            "That'd be great.  I can't remember the last time I bothered to make--hell, eat breakfast.  Can we have toast too, ma?" Jack asked with a grin.

            "If you're good.  How'd you sleep, Jack?"

            "Great.  No dreams, for once.  And my leg doesn't hurt."

            Kate started breaking eggs and scrambling.  "Good.  I take it your dreams have been pretty bad lately?"

            Jack shrugged.  "They've been about par for me.  I think you know, most of the time I'm pretty stressed, tired.  Huh," he laughed softly.  "You know, I can't figure out how I've lived so long with so much burning me up inside.  For so long--really, until Claire and I began seeing each other outside work."

            Kate turned her back on her brother as she asked him a question she was afraid would pain him.  "So, what's she like, Jack?  Claire?  I only saw her once, I believe."

            She heard Jack take a deep breath and exhale.  The only sound for a few moments was the sound of food cooking on the stove.

            Jack McCoy thought seriously about the question.  *Why do I love Claire?* he asked himself wonderingly, and then immediately, *How could I not?*

            In a flash, he thought of the first time they met, so very long ago, when she had just joined the DA's office and was even more idealistic than she was now.  So incredibly young, so beautiful, and surprisingly, so willing to play hardball with him.

            "She's--she's not like anyone I know, Kate.  Well--when I first met her, she introduced herself and I was a real jackass.  I think I said something  like 'I hope you like your law black and white, Miss Kincaid, because I'm colorblind.'  She looked me up and down very slowly, just like I know I must have looked at her.  She smiled at me and said "Justice is blind too, Mr. McCoy, but she doesn't have to pick a tie," and walked out with Adam.  Claire just impressed me so much.

            "I didn't get a chance to work with her much until after Ben Stone left.  Every time I saw her she was so impressive--and so beautiful."

            Kate interrupted him to set his plate in front of him.  "You've never lacked for beautiful women, Jack McCoy."  He smiled up at her.

            "Thanks.  Looks great.  As for the beautiful women--well.  For the most part I don't think I thought of it very much, not until Claire, even.  All the other stuff--I hate to say it didn't mean much--but it didn't, not for me.  I don't think I even knew what I was doing getting married--hell, I didn't know what I was doing with women for a while."

            Kate sat opposite Jack.  "Eat, Jack.  You can talk while you eat."

            "Yeah.  I'm sorry if I sound like a jerk, Kate.  It's just that I didn't realize until Claire how screwed up I was about women--about life, for that matter."  He paused to take a bite and smiled appreciatively.  "Hey, great!"

            "Glad you like it.  So why, brother, are you so screwed about women?  As a woman, I'd like  to know.  As your sister, I'm even more interested."

            Jack sighed and leaned back.  "I wish I knew why.  You remember that one time I tried therapy?  When I thought I was going crazy?  I tried asking him and he kept asking me if I loved my mother.  I got so pissed I told him yes, I loved my mother but my father was a son of a bitch.  And I never went back."

            He watched his sister in silence.  She had stopped eating and was watching him in return.  Finally she put down her fork.

            "Get dressed, Jack.  Come with me," Kate said, rising and pulling Jack's chair out for him.  He looked at her quizzically and got up.  She held his arm lightly as he went back to the den.

            "You gonna help me change, too, kid?" he asked amusedly.  She smiled and threw a pair of jeans at him.

            "Yeah.  Put these on.  And here." Kate threw him a sweatshirt and he pulled on his clothes.  She knelt to help him put on his shoes.  He looked down at her with great fondness.

            Touching her hair lightly, Jack said, "Thanks for everything, Kate.  I mean it."

            Kate shrugged as she laced his shoes.  "I wanted to see you, Jack.  I had an ulterior motive.  And besides," she said, finishing, "you sounded like you needed a hand."

            He stood and put her hand through his arm.  "I do.  Where to?"

            "Come out here.  Let's take a walk.  I think better outside."

            They went out the back door and stood for a second on the porch.  Jack was speechless.

            From the porch green grass stretched into a horizon arching with mountains and still holding a faint dewy mist.  Kate's house sat in a shallow valley, or cut, on a mountain and the house itself was built on this rare plain, surrounded by mountains.  Jack turned his head to look at the immensity around him, overwhelmed by the space and size of the mountains.  To his left was the largish corral, with horses lazing casually around.  The garage and shed on his right seemed dwarfed by the surroundings.

            "This is unbelievable.  Just unbelievable," Jack said in awe.  Kate smiled at her brother's tone.

            "To you.  New York at night would be unbelievable to me.  Come on.  We'll feed the horses and then walk down by the stream."

            "Horses?" Jack asked doubtfully as they left the porch.

            The horses raised their heads quizzically as they sensed Jack.  Kate had to call to them before they came to her.  She petted their noses as she lifted the corral latch.

            "Hey, I haven't been near a horse for a hell of a long time," Jack said, hesitant about the huge animals.  Kate tugged him forward.

            "Get in here.  You used to ride pretty well, back on Uncle Tim's place."

            Jack edged closer, eyes warily watching the horses.  "I was fifteen last time I was there."

            "So?  Come here.  Look, Citizen likes you," she said as a large bay came near Jack and nudged him.  He stood stock still, unsure what to do.  "Pet him, Jack."

            McCoy put out a hand tentatively and patted Citizen's nose.  The horse snuffled lightly and stood closer.  Kate went to get hay and Jack felt a surge of panic as the other horses began looking at him, mild curiosity bright in their eyes.

            "Kate?  Where are you?" he asked worriedly.  He was afraid to stop petting the horse, and as another moved up to him he reached out and patted it as well.  Kate came out with an armload of hay and started laughing when she saw him.

            "Way to go, Jack!" she said, dropping hay in the box.  Two of the horses left at her voice to feed.  Citizen remained by Jack, nuzzling.  Kate walked over to him and gently tugged at Citizen's mane.  The horse reluctantly left to feed and Jack breathed a relieved sigh.

            "Don't do that again," he said without humor.

            "Oh, come on.  You were fine.  Just don't show how scared you are."

            "I was scared, and they knew it."

            Kate guided him out of the corral.  "You did fine, Jack.  Come on."

            As they walked across the grass, Jack allowed himself to fully experience the day, enjoying the feel of the light breeze on his face and the smell of the air.  He closed his eyes several times to listen to the silence and felt peaceful for one of the few times in recent days.

            "I really love it here," he said dreamily.

            "I thought you might."

            "It's so different.  Quiet.  Calm."

            "How much do you pay for this in New York?" Kate asked.  Jack smiled down at his sister.

            "For this?  Maybe Trump has this.  You can't buy calm."

            Kate tucked her arm inside Jack's.  Jack was thinking in a faraway manner that it had been years since he had felt so close to Kate. A strong surge of brotherly affection rose in him.  *She's such a great person,* he thought,  *so together.  And I'm happy to be with her,* he finished.  Kate watched his wistful expression widen into a smile.

            "What're you thinking, Jack?"

            "I'm happy to be here.  I'm--just happy.  Right now, with you.  Thanks again."

            She hugged him lightly, always aware of his injury.  "Good.  You're welcome, and you're doing me a favor anyway.  Oh, here.  Over here."

            Kate went a little ahead and slightly down a gentle slope.  Jack followed carefully, and for a minute lost his breath at the scene before him.

            It was, if such a thing was possible, even more beautiful that the sights he had already seen.  The slope ended at the river which wound beside and around the homestead and flowed gently past the break in the rocks here.  Kate was beckoning to him from near the river's edge, standing near an enormous flat boulder that jutted slightly out over the water.  Jack worked his way down slowly and slid along the rock to dangle his feet over the water, Kate next to him.  Jack watched the water for a second and then settled back with a contented sigh, pillowing his head on his hands.  Kate leaned back and watched him.

            "I don't think I've ever seen you relaxed before," she said quietly.  He opened his eyes.

            "I'm not sure I've been relaxed outside Claire's presence ever.  I like it."

            "So Jack.  Tell me more about her.  Maybe it'll help you, and I'd sure like to know what kind of a person could steal my brother's well-guarded heart."

            Jack closed his eyes again and let his mind drift over to Claire.  He felt a momentary twinge at his heart when he remembered the last time he'd seen her she was still too silent, too quiet in that hospital bed.  McCoy forced himself to think of her alive, vibrant, real and immediate.

            "Hmm.  Well--I don't know where to start.  Oh.  Well, maybe the first time we went out.  We had won a fairly long and difficult case of child abuse, and felt pretty vindicated.  I asked her if she wanted to get a drink, which we'd done before.  And then--for no real reason, maybe it was a subconscious wish, I asked her if I could buy her dinner and maybe listen to a band somewhere."  Jack smiled at the memory.  "Jesus, I remember being petrified."

*      *        *

            "Dinner, Jack?"

            "Yeah.  If you think it's too late, we can get something light, or maybe just get a drink and listen to some music." Oh, Jack, what are you doing?

            "You think it's a wise idea?"  Claire had a small smile.  Jack felt nervous.

            "Uh--well, I have to admit I'd been thinkin' about asking earlier, but hey--" he managed a weak smile "--I knew you knew about me already.  I didn't want to seem pushy."

            At that Claire laughed.  "You?  Jack McCoy pushy?"

            Jack felt embarrassed and small.  "I'm sorry.  I guess it's not--"

            "Yes."

            "What?"

            "I'd love dinner, or a drink, and music.  Yes, I would."    *     *      *

            "Claire made--makes--me feel like I should be on my guard.  She makes me accountable, and she always calls me on my cheaper shots.  Something no one has done--okay, well, actually, you used to do it too."  Jack smiled again.  "But you're related.  You should know how cheap I can be."

            "You've had your priceless moments, Jack McCoy."

            They commiserated silently for some minutes, Jack enjoying the faint field sounds immensely and Kate thinking deeply about how best to probe her brother's mind for what she knew was bothering him at his core and always had been.  She couldn't think of a sensitive way, so she asked bluntly.

            "Jack, what about dad?"

            McCoy's eyes swooped open.  "What?"

            "Dad.  You told me you've been thinking about him again."

            "I never stop thinking about him," Jack said, his voice dripping bitterness.  "It's impossible."

            "Why?  I don't really want to push you now, Jack, but I want you to put this to rest, and it's so close to you all the time.  Haven't you ever been able to say goodbye?"

            Jack sat up angrily.  "I've tried to say goodbye and get rid of that bastard every day for most of my life.  I can't remember not hating him--or at least, being scared shitless of him.  You should know that."

            Kate reached over and placed a hand over Jack's.  "But it was harder for you.  I wasn't a man."

            Jack eyes began to sting as he was taken back to the fearsome and violent years of his childhood.  His sister's words echoed in his head.  *Wasn't a man.*  Jack felt himself growing sad, and even a little frightened.

            "No.  I guess that was the problem, huh?  The old man didn't know I needed to be a child first.  I wasn't a man.  I was a kid.  Just a kid.  Like you.  I wanted to be a kid but he tried, hell, he practically beat being a man into me."  He stopped abruptly, already afraid he'd said so much he wouldn't be able to go back,  go back to his safe anger, go back!.

            Kate moved next to Jack and put an arm around him.  She felt his trembling and understood his fear--she was afraid of much of her childhood as well, watching her father, mother, and Jack act out a frightening and insane war, with Jack and her mother always losing, often with physical results.  Her brother's fear and anger were something she carried as well.  Kate decided if she was going to force Jack to tell what he hated, she had to as well.

            "Jack?  Jack, listen.  I'm sorry I couldn't help you.  I was so afraid of him.  He was always so angry, so mean.  And--and I saw him do it once, Jack.  Beat you up, I mean."

            McCoy felt ice pouring through his veins.  "What?" he asked, feeling unreal and nightmarish.  "You were never there.  His one--his one concession in all of it.  You were never there when he let fly--he wouldn't do it in front of you, Kate."

            "No.  I don't know why, he would scream and threaten in front of me.  But I did.  I thought--I thought he had killed you, Jack, I was so frightened for you."

            "How?"  Jack asked faintly, a sense of new horror descending on him.  *Oh please, God, it can't be true, please let one of us have been spared.*

            "You were fifteen.  I think you had started working for O'Phelan, in his store, after school.  And it was the day O'Phelan walked you home, said you had eaten a sandwich without paying for it and he'd take it out of your next paycheck--not really upset, just concerned that parents should know, blah, blah.  And he left.

            "I had seen you walking up and I wanted to surprise you so I hid in your closet.  You were a long while.  And then  I heard the screaming--it was so loud, so angry.  I was terrified, I couldn't move.  I could just see out the tiny crack in the doorway and I saw when you came running in."

            "Please, stop," Jack said weakly.  He hugged himself, body growing cold, his mind reeling with the clarity of the memory.           

            Kate was feeling tears gather in her eyes.  "You ran in, and your shirt was torn.  You tried to slam the door, lock it, and he pushed right in.

            "Jack.  You were so small next to him, but you tried to stand up to him, tell him that it was okay, O'Phelan wasn't upset and you knew it was wrong but you had been so hungry--"

            Kate stopped, tears flowing freely.  "I don't know what he grabbed--some stick, something.  It was heavy-looking."

            "Stickball bat," Jack said quietly.  "My stickball bat."

            "I thought--I thought he was going to kill you.  He kept hitting you even when you stopped moving, or making a sound.  It finally broke.  I couldn't even cry--I was so shocked.  He was angry it had broken, and dragged you over to the window.  I thought he was going to throw you out, I ran out of the closet and screamed at him."

            "Oh, Kate."

            "He looked scared, stunned.  He just dropped you and left, and he never said anything about it to me.  Ever.  You wouldn't move.  You were so still, Jack.  I had to run and get mom from work--he had disappeared."

            "That was when my arm was broken.  And my nose, and a few other things," Jack said tiredly, the recollection hurting almost as much as the event.  Tears were falling down his face and he made no attempt to wipe them away.  Kate ran her hand under his shirt along his back and traced one of the scars she knew were there.  Jack flinched slightly.

            Kate looked up at him, heart nearly stopping at the sight of her brother's face.  "What did you tell Claire about these, Jack?" she asked softly.

            Jack answered dreamily.  "I said I got into a bar brawl in college.  I don't think she believed me."  Kate watched him a minute more.

            "What did you tell yourself about these, Jack?"

            Jack looked down at her.  He moved his mouth as if to speak and closed it.  McCoy could feel himself being pulled apart and he desperately wanted to stay together, keep some kind of control, some vestige of the Jack McCoy that had survived all this time.  At the same time, he knew the pain was necessary--but Jesus, that doesn't mean it has to hurt so much!

            "I say--I tell myself that--"  Jack stopped again, unsure.  He pulled Kate close to him, a ragged sigh escaping.  "I wish it were that simple, I wish this was all I had to forgive him for...I tell myself that I deserved it, Kate.  Somehow, I deserved all his abuse and all his hate and anger.  I deserved it."

            Jack McCoy felt a rush of adrenaline as he allowed himself to say aloud what he had feared for years was the truth.  *I deserved it.  I had to--no one could be that cruel.  Could they?*

            "I've thought about it for a long time, and I think it's always been on my subconscious mind.  I've tried to figure out a way to excuse him, to understand how he could be that way.  I mean--he's my father.  How could he hate me?  I--I love him."

            For over thirty years, Jack had said he hated his father, hated his meanness and anger, hated his treatment of himself and his mother.  And he realized, and perhaps had realized for some time, that he indeed loved him and wanted to love him.  He just couldn't conceive of truly hating his father.  And it made him feel a bit stupid and simple, but it was a true feeling.

            Kate held her brother tightly, sensing his confusion and childlike simplicity of feeling for their father.  "I know you do.  I've always known."

            "How?  I don't understand it.  How could I think I deserved to be treated like that?  It doesn't make sense."

            "Be quiet, Jack.  You've always tried to explain everything.   Everything except why our father was such a damned asshole. 

            "When you were in college, and you wrote, you would always say you hoped he died before he hurt anyone else.  But you would also ask me to say hello for you.  You'd bitch and moan about him, and still give him a few bucks for a beer if he was short.  You gave him your law degree, and he hung it in that stupid trophy room.

            "Jack, he was our father.  I decided years ago that I loved him even if he was an asshole, and because he was my father.  I can't escape that.  Why should you?  Because you have the scars and I don't?"

            "I know you do, babe.  I just didn't see anyone else's until now.  I'm so sorry."

            "Stop apologizing.  Just like it wasn't your fault he beat you, it's not your fault the rest of the family is slightly screwy.  You were not the man of the family, Jack.  But he wasn't either.  You both were lost.  But his sin was that he made you believe you were the only one lost, the one at fault.  For that, I can't forgive him.  I may love him, but what he did was so wrong."

            Jack stared out across the river as she spoke.  He was still mulling over the memory, remembering that he had indeed felt guilty, even as he protested innocence.  He always had felt guilty.  No matter what had happened or not happened.

            On one level he thought that he had known all along that this was what was occurring, the thing that was eating away at him, his assumption of all guilt.  But on a secondary, primal, living level, he knew he hadn't acknowledged it.  He had been living his life like he was still guilty, still at fault, still unable to please or be, simply, good.

            The realization made him start.  Kate felt him jump slightly.

            "Jack?"

            "I'm okay.  Really.  How did I live all this time?  I knew, Kate, I knew.  I must have told this to myself in dreams, or something.  But I knew that was what was going on with me.  I just never really dealt with it.  I'm not sure how.

            "Funny.  I'm old enough to know better and too old to change."  He smiled bitterly.  "Where does that leave me?"

            "Hey, Jack, I'm sorry--maybe I shouldn't be playing amateur psychiatrist here."

            "No, kid.  It's okay, really."  He gave her a squeeze and then relaxed back, propping himself on his elbows as he looked across the water.  "You just made it a little more obvious to me.  I don't think I'd been looking at it very closely--hell, why would I?  It pissed me off--and it scared me some.

            "I wish it wasn't just us.  I wish sometimes there were other people we could tell this to--I wanted to talk to Claire about it.  Almost did, once, but I was too afraid, afraid even that I'd lose control." Jack smiled, a small, knowing grin.  "Like I ever had any control to begin with."

            Kate shoved him.  "Stop it.  Self-pity doesn't look good on you.  You were the most self-controlled person I'd ever seen, Jack, especially in law school."

            "Ha.  Well, maybe.  I think I've just gotten to be controlling.  It's safer, you know, although you tend to get a reputation as an asshole.  Claire--I couldn't control her.  She saw right through the bullshit."

            "I want to meet her, Jack."  He sighed, sadness descending over him.

            "I want you to.  I mean--we didn't--the last time we talked, we weren't on the best of terms.  That's what's making this so hard.  I have to be able to say I'm sorry."

            Kate moved around and lay her head on Jack's stomach.  He lay flat again, idly watching one tiny cloud in the sky mosey around.  "I've never known you to really be sorry," she said.  "It's different."

            "I'm less of an ass now.  I've been taught a few lessons."

            "By Claire?"

            "Uh-hmm."

            "She has to be a hell of a woman."

            "Oh, God, yes she is."

Part 6

            The sun was nearing its full height when they finally moved from the boulder.  They had sat in very companionable silence for over an hour, Jack closing his eyes to listen to the country and Kate, one hand behind her head pillowed on Jack, gently rubbing Jack's stomach.  It was an old habit, going back to their childhood when they would sit together and read, Kate's head in Jack's lap.  When his stomach would rumble, as it frequently did--Jack ate quite a lot as a boy--Kate would rub his tummy softly until it stopped.  Neither one really thought much about it.  Today, however, Jack opened his eyes at last and tapped his sister's head.

            "Hey."

            "Yeah?"

            "You know, I don't eat much at all anymore, but that still feels great, kid."

            Kate blushed and stopped the unconscious motion.  "Sorry."

            "Hey, don't stop!  It feels great--it's relaxing.  It just took me back some."

            "I remember--God, Jack, it's hard to believe we actually had some good times as kids."

            "Some great times.  Can't keep the McCoys down--although the old man tried, he really did."

            Kate turned to look at him.  "How are you with that, Jack?"

            Jack let out a pent-up breath.  "Oh, I don't know.  I've thought about things I never had, or in a way I never had.  What I'm going to do with it--that's another story.  But at least I think I'm willing to work through it now.  Instead of ignoring it, I mean."

            "You gonna see a shrink?"

            "Nah.  I think I'm going to have to do this myself--and maybe with the help of my sister...and maybe Claire."  Jack sat up again as Kate stood.  "I guess we should head in, huh?"

            "Yeah.  I'll buy ya lunch.  And oh--did you want to get that leg checked?"

            Jack hadn't even felt his leg much today.  "Yes--well, I guess I should.  I haven't taken the antibiotics lately.  Can we do that in town?"

            "No problem.  Come on."

            Kate helped him up the slope and they walked in silence back to the house.  In spite of the recent battering his emotions had taken, Jack McCoy was feeling calm, and even happy again.  He attributed it to the scenery and his sister.

            "Did I thank you for putting up with me, Kate?" he asked as she held the door open for him.  She laughed.

            "Not enough.  I'm happy to put up with you, big brother.  Pleasure's mine."

            Jack made his way back into the den and sat with a heavy sigh on a chair.  Kate followed him in and looked into her brother's face, noting the edges of exhaustion around the smiling face.  

            "Hey, Jack, you look pretty tired."

            "Ah, just the mental beating I've taken lately.  Can you toss me that bottle of antibiotics there?  Yeah, that one.  Thanks."  Jack dry swallowed two of the pills.  It's true, he thought,  I feel pretty burned out.  Probably just everything coming together.  I never realize how tired I am until I stop working.

            "That's probably why I don't take a vacation too often," he said aloud.

            "Huh?"

            "Oh, I was thinking that whenever I stop working I realize how burned out I am, how tired.  Crazy, isn't it?  I can't relax when I'm supposed to."

            "Nah, it's not crazy.  You just need to get  into the habit of leaving work and leaving work.  Do you want to go into the Park?"  Kate asked.

            "Oh, yeah.  I'd like to see everything in the daylight.  I'll even suffer through the doctor--last thing I need is to lose a leg.  The wreck was a disaster," Jack said, and his words brought his mind back to the wreck Claire and Lennie Briscoe had been in.  He blinked and mentally shook himself.  "Let's get out of here," he said quickly, annoyed that he was able to put fear back into himself so quickly.

            Jack forgot for the drive to Estes Park all his worries.  He goggled around at the view, amazed at the sheer size of the country, mountains and fields.  The small town seemed to rise up out of nowhere, and the streets were quiet and almost empty.

            "We'll hit the doctor first?" Kate asked.  Jack nodded, still bemused.  Kate pulled up into the lot of a small building with one Land Rover in front of it.  "Then hey, here we are."

            Jack came back from his dreaming.  "Oh.  Small, isn't it?"

            "You expected Cedars-Sinai, I suppose?"  Kate got out to help Jack down.

            "Of course.  What with all the trees--ow!"

            Kate pulled him up.  "Sorry.  I think you hit the door."

            Now that his leg had been rudely awakened, Jack felt the pain begin to radiate again.  He closed his eyes against it briefly and tried to settle himself.  "I'm okay.  Let's go."

            The doctor's office was empty, not even a receptionist in the waiting area.  To Jack's surprise, she walked through the DO NOT ENTER door and called out.

            "Hey, Mike!  Oh, there you are.  Hi.  Can I borrow your talents for a few?"

            Kate came back out, a short, middle-aged man finishing a slice of pizza following.  He smiled at Jack and nodded through Kate's introductions.

            "Mike Laurel, this is my brother, Jack McCoy.  Jack, say hi to Mike."

            McCoy shook hands, still trying to envision the man in front of him as a doctor.  The man's flannel shirt and jeans looked fairly out of place in the antiseptic office.

            "Good to meet you, Mr. McCoy.  Kate's mentioned you a few times."

            "I was hoping you could take a look at that leg.  My boneheaded brother and his motorcycle met a section of New York street."

            Jack was surprised at how quickly the man assumed a serious, almost scolding, demeanor.

            "Hm.  You know what motorcycles are really for, don't you, Mr. McCoy?" he asked Jack, pizza finished.

            "Uh, I think you have something else in mind besides fun," Jack said hesitantly.

            "Medical schools.  They're great for the cadaver industry.  You two come on in."

            Jack shuddered briefly and followed his sister and the doctor through the forbidden door.  A short walk led them into the examining room.

            "Hop--well, get on up there, Mr. McCoy--oh hey, can I call you Jack?  Your name's a bit long, I talk too fast to work it in all the time."  Jack nodded, highly amused, as he got onto the table.  "No--all the way, lay back there.  Good.  Relax some.  Kate, are you sure you wanna be in here?  I have a feeling Jack's leg isn't the prettiest thing."

            "Neither is Jack.  I'll hang around for a bit."

            "All right.  Okay.  So, Jack, can you tell me anything about the injury, what they did, how it felt, if it hurts, anything?"

            Jack thought briefly.  "I don't remember what they did.  I was out most of the time after they threw me in the ambulance.  But it hurt for a while after, hurt one hell of a lot.  It's been pretty quiet since I left New York."

            "Okay.  Any antibiotics, drugs they gave you?"

            "An antibiotic and some codeine stuff."

            "Okay.  I hope you're not taking too much of the codeine?"

            "Not lately."

            "Good.  Well, lemme see here..."  Jack watched the man look closely at the bandage, slipping on gloves while he looked.  He glanced up.  "Is this the only major injury?"

            "I had a concussion as well.  And lots of bruises.  But that's the major one."

            Laurel peered into Jack's eyes closely and took his pulse.  "You don't have to panic, Jack.  I'm not taking your leg off."

            McCoy smiled weakly.  "I'm not much for doctors."

            "Thanks.  Breathe.  Again.  One more time.  Okay," Laurel said, removing the icy stethoscope from Jack's chest.  He raised the sweatshirt slightly.  "Nice.  That's one hell of a bruise."

            Kate saw a corner of the purpling bruise stretching across Jack's torso.  "Ugh.  You know, Jack, I love you, but maybe I should wait outside.  Tom always has to come with the kids for their shots.  I'm sorry."

            "Thanks, mom.  No, it's okay.  I'll be fine."

            "There's coffee in my office, Kate, why don't you wait there?" Laurel said.  Kate nodded.

            "Don't hurt him too much," she said in parting.

            "Good person, Kate.  Jack, why don't you take off your shirt?  I'd like to see how everything is healing."

            "Sure.  Okay," Jack said, pulling his shirt off.  The bruise was an ugly and frightening purplish color.  

            "Hmm.  You were at least wearing a jacket of some kind when you crashed?"

            "Yeah.  And a helmet," Jack said, replying to the unanswered question.

            "Well, good.  You managed to avoid some real road rash.  Fine.  Now, I guess I better take a look at what they did in New York."

            Jack watched with growing trepidation as Laurel took a pair of cutters from the autoclave hissing silently in a corner of the room.  The doctor grew silent as he concentrated.  Jack felt the metal against his skin creeping slowly up his leg as Laurel cut the bandage.  The change of pressure on his leg caused pain to flare up.  Jack shut his eyes and lay back.  

            It seemed a long while before Laurel said "That's it" and Jack opened his eyes.  He resisted looking down, scared of what he'd see.  He heard Laurel say "Hmm" several times.

            "Well.  They did a fair job, Jack.  You can look, it's probably not as bad as you think."

            Jack raised his head and looked down.  A tiny groan escaped him.  It was worse than he'd thought.

            Jack only remembered the bike clipping him--he hadn't thought it had hit him badly.  He knew he had been wrong now.  The line of stitches  ran from Jack's ankle to just above his knee, not quite straight but almost in a red, ugly crescent.  Jack realized the bike's rear wheel guard must have smashed into him as it spun--the crescent's arc matched the wheel guard fairly well.  Several small dots of blood rose from the line of stitches and Jack was reminded how recently he'd been in the wreck.  He lay back with a groan.

            "You're lucky nothing broke--well, lucky being relative, I suppose.  It's really not that bad."

            "I'd hate to see what you think's bad," Jack said, almost annoyed.

            "You wouldn't want to.  You'd be amazed how stupid people can be here in the winter.  Bit of advice?  Don't ever ski."

            Jack was silent.  He was feeling queasy.  Then he felt a real flare of pain and half-sat up.

            "Jesus!"

            "Sorry.  I need to clean this a bit before I bandage it back up.  It's going to hurt."

            "You could have told me."

            "You looked like you were thinking. Sorry.  Here, let me put this underneath--"

            Laurel raised Jack's leg enough to slip a thick towel under it.  Jack lay back again and shut his eyes tight, trying to anticipate the pain.

            "I'm going to start again, Jack.  I'll try to be fast."

            Laurel was indeed fast, working quickly to clean the stitches, but to Jack it seemed forever.  Several times he cried out involuntarily, feeling helpless.  Laurel kept apologizing as he worked.  By the time he finished bandaging the leg, Jack felt sick and his head pounded.  He opened his eyes to Laurel holding a glass of water.

            "Here, try to drink.  You must feel pretty sick."

            Jack nodded and drank, the water washing some of the nausea away.  "Thanks."

            "You're all set.  You really did well, Jack, considering how long it took.  Just lay there for a minute.  You probably don't want to move much right now.  I gave you a shot--you wouldn't have felt it.  It'll get rid of the pain for a while, until you can get home and take something if it still hurts."

            *It'll never stop hurting,* Jack thought, but aloud he said "I'll be okay."

            "Let me get Kate."  Laurel had turned to go, stopped, and turned back, thoughtful.  "Jack, those scars on your back--they're pretty old.  Have you had a back injury that might complicate anything?"

            Jack turned cold.  From Laurel's guarded voice he knew that the doctor knew exactly what the scars were.

            "Kate talked to you?" Jack managed.

            Laurel nodded slightly.  "We go way back, Jack.  We sort of function as psychiatrists for each other.  But I really want to know if perhaps it left a lasting problem anything that might make it difficult for you to walk properly again, any weakness."

            Jack shook his head, still stunned.  "Not a physical one."

            Laurel let it go.  "Fine.  You and Kate need time.  I'll be back."

            Jack felt drained and weak when Kate came back in.  Jack's face told her volumes.  She came next to him and touched his hair.

            "Jack?  I'm sorry I chickened out.  Are you okay?"

            Jack had his eyes closed, keeping tears from falling.  They were tears of pain--and of frustration.

            "Yeah.  I'm fine.  Hurts," he said shortly.  He felt Kate stroking his hair, the touch soothing.  He didn't feel at all like talking, but Laurel's revelation ate at him.

            "Kate," he said softly, opening his eyes.  Kate saw the shimmer on them and felt her heart jump.

            "Yes?" she answered, leaning closer.

            "You told Laurel about dad," he said.  His tone wasn't accusing, just tired and sad.  She felt a little embarrassed.

            "Um.  Yes.  Mike and I go back to when we first came here, Tom and I.  He's a great doctor--a great friend, Jack."

            "But it's my life," Jack said quietly.  He didn't feel angry, but he felt slightly betrayed.

            Kate felt the rebuke.  "I know.  But it's also mine, Jack.  I'm sorry.  I never thought he'd mention it."

            "He saw my back.  He was concerned that it might have left a real physical problem, something that would give me trouble when I tried to walk again.  I don't think he meant to say anything."

            "I'm sorry.  He's one of the people here I feel I can talk some things through with.  He hasn't heard everything, or all of the story."  Jack reached up a hand and held hers.

            "All right.  Can we just get out of here?" he asked.  He felt like falling asleep on the spot, and perhaps would have if his leg had still not been hurting.  So when's that shot going to kick in? he wondered.

            "Yeah.  Can I help you up?"  

            "Okay.  Just--help me slide my legs off--slowly!  Jesus, that hurts.  Thanks," Jack said as he readied himself to lean on his crutches.  The rush of blood back into his leg made his headache flare up so badly lights spun in front of his eyes.  He shook his head and stood uneasily.  

            "God, I feel sick.  All right."

            Laurel was coming up the hallway when they came out of the room.  He looked vaguely surprised.

            "Well, Jack.  You're in a hurry."

            Jack turned to him and Laurel was struck by Jack's exhaustion.  "Yeah, I'm not feeling very good. Sorry."

            "No, I'm glad you can move already.  I'd probably stay in bed for a while, just to let the shot work.  You heal faster if you're relaxed.  And don't forget to take the antibiotics."

            "I won't.  So what do I owe you for the honor?" Jack asked as they made their way to the front.

            "Nothing.  You might have noticed, this is a rich town and I'm the rich doctor.  It's a favor for Kate, that's all.  It was good to meet you, Jack."  The doctor held out his hand and Jack shook it.

            "Same here.  Maybe next time it won't be so painful."

            "Maybe.  Take care, both of you.  Kate, tell Tom I said hi, okay?"

            "I will, Mike.  Thanks so much.  I better get him home and to bed.  See you around."

            Jack was much less interested in the scenery on the drive back.  He was silent for the most part, only speaking when Kate went to a drive-up and ordered hamburgers.  She could see the pain on his face and pushed the car faster than she normally would back to the house.

            Jack sat with his door open for a minute to steel himself for the walk up the stairs and inside.  Kate came around and watched him.

            "You okay, bro?"

            Jack managed a smile.  "I'll be okay, I'm just not looking forward to walking.  Here, help me, will you?" he asked, and together they got him out and standing.  "Jesus.  If I ever do something as stupid as ride in the rain again--"

            "You mean you're still going to ride that bike?" Kate asked incredulously.  Jack laughed.

            "Of course.  I'm stubborn, Kate."

            "Stupid," Kate muttered as she helped her brother inside.  

            Jack felt instantly better lying down on the sleeper, the shot finally having an effect.  Kate took his shoes off and helped him pull the sweatshirt off.  Jack relaxed back into the pillows and sighed deeply.  Kate sat next to him.

            "Hey," she said.

            "Yeah?"

            "I'm sorry if you regret coming."

            Jack half-sat up, placing a hand over hers.  "I don't.  Why would you think that?  I thought you'd have some regrets by now."

            "No.  But I saw how much it's hurt you to talk about dad and all.  I don't want to hurt you."  She saw a large and genuine smile break on Jack's face and the radiance of it surprised her.

            "Kate, I owe you so much, not the least of which is getting me to talk about things.  I can't remember the last time I felt so relieved, even thought it was--well, sort of frantic.  I just have to work some things out in my head, that's all.  Please don't think that you hurt me.  I hurt myself."

            Kate reached across and brushed her brother's hair out of his eyes.  He touched her cheek lightly.

            "I love you," he said quietly.  She nodded at him.

            "I love you too.  Please try and sleep.  I have to get the kids soon, so I'm going to be gone for a while.  You want your food now?"

            "No.  I feel dead.  I'll sleep until about seven or so, I think.  I want to see the kids later.  Okay?"

            Kate stood.  "Sure.  I'll check on you later, big brother."  

            Jack watched her go, and lay back again, sighing inwardly.  He absently scratched the bruise on his torso and pulled the blanket around him.  His mind was becoming pleasantly fogged and he fell asleep quickly after closing his eyes.

            His dreams spiraled around in a dark fog until they settled on visions of Claire Kincaid.  McCoy relaxed unconsciously as his dream began to take shape.

            *    *         *          *

            "Claire?"

            "Yes?"

            "I was thinkin'--you want to come over after work?  I found a really good bottle of wine and I'd like to pop it open."  Jack felt only vaguely uncomfortable--if she said yes, it would be the first time at his place.  He doodled with a pencil, head down, while he asked her.  They had been seeing each other for over two months.

            Claire looked up from the file on her lap.  They both sat on Jack's couch, Claire against one end, feet tucked under her, Jack at the other end.  Both had already changed into casual clothes.  "Really."

            "Yeah.  You up for red?"

            Claire smiled at him.  "Jack--well, how about dinner?  Your treat."

            Jack smiled back.  "All right.  Then my place for the wine?  I promise it'll be a treat."

            Claire leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on Jack's cheek.  He felt a shock run through him.  They had never kissed at work--he felt devious.  McCoy reached over hesitantly and ran his hand across her hair, leaning over.  Their lips touched briefly, and they reached for each other.  They held the embrace for a few moments.  Jack could smell her faintly clean scent clearly and closed his eyes, trying to memorize the smell.  Claire finally let go.  Both smiled.

            "Okay, Jack.  I suppose you have your bike?"

            "Of course.  And I have a second helmet."

            "Well," Claire said, closing her file.  "I'm hungry.  You done with that?"

            Jack closed his file as well.  He nodded.  "Yeah.  Come on, we'll go to Mandy's."

            Claire laughed.  "Oh no.  At least The Black Crow, Jack."

            He mock groaned.  "You think I'm rich?"

            Claire slapped his chest.  "You're an EADA.  Hell yes."

            They went into the garage under the building and Jack gave Claire the helmet.  He fitted his on and straddled the bike, turning to face her as she strapped hers on.  She swung her leg over the bike and settled down close to Jack, wrapping her arms around him tightly.  He raised the visor to speak.  

            "You're not afraid, are you?" he asked with a smile.

            "I had a boyfriend with a bike before.  He was half-crazy," Claire answered.

            "Great.  I'm all crazy.  Hang on," Jack said, closing his visor and starting the bike.  Claire thrilled at the sound of the bike as Jack backed it out and roared out of the garage.  Claire breathed in sharply and tightened her grip on Jack.  Jack smiled behind his helmet as they flew down the streets.  He felt excited and pushed the bike faster than he normally would.  Jack had taken several women for rides on the Yamaha, and all of them to his great amusement had felt sick right afterwards.  He realized it was somewhat childish--*but what the hell,* he thought.

            They had almost reached the restaurant when Jack saw the police lights in the mirror.  He groaned and pulled into the restaurant parking lot before stopping and pulling off his helmet.  He looked at Claire as she took her off.  He noticed her face was calm.

            "Sorry.  I was pushing it."

            She brushed her hair back and smiled as the police officer walked up.  "I bet you were."

            Jack nodded amiably at the officer as he approached.  "Hi."

            "Hello.  I guess you know you were speeding a bit.  License, please."

            Jack pulled it out of his wallet and handed it over.  "Yeah.  I'm sorry, I was trying to impress my friend here," McCoy said sheepishly.  The officer looked closely at the license, and then looked at Jack.

            "Are you a lawyer, Mr.--McCoy?" he asked.  Jack nodded.

            "We both are.  Just testing the laws out."

            "I thought you looked a bit familiar.  I was called to testify once--you were the prosecutor.  Kidnapping, 'bout two years ago."

            "Really.  Well, I don't have an excuse.  Sorry."

            The officer handed the license back.  "What would I find if I ran that license?" he asked.

            "Some speeding tickets.  I don't pull rank, Officer."

            "Well good.  You get a warning this time. I'm happy you didn't try to talk your way out of it.  Just slow down, okay?  Good night to you both."

            "Good night.  Thank you," Jack called as the officer left.  He smiled at Claire.  "And you thought I was a jerk."

            "Yeah.  I still do," Claire said with a smile as Jack started the bike and pulled forward slightly into a parking spot.  He hopped off, slamming the kickstand down, and helped Claire off.

            "I'm sorry if I scared you.  I like riding fast."

            Claire handed Jack the helmet as she smoothed her clothes down.  "I'm fine."  She threaded her hand through his arm and they walked in, Jack pausing briefly to give both helmets to the valet.

            They ate slowly, enjoying each other's company and managing to avoid talking of work.  They spoke about the Yankees and motorcycles, Jack marveling at Claire's range of interests.

            "Do you like the bike?" he asked during dessert.

            "It's okay.  Why the Yamaha, Jack?  I thought you might  be a Harley person."

            "Speed.  At the time it was the fastest.  I might get another one sometime."

            "I bet you will.  This has been great, Jack, thank you."

            "Welcome."

            The drive back to his apartment was much more leisurely, Jack becoming more and more aware of Claire's presence right behind him, her arms tight around him as he steered through the streets.  He felt a new, powerful emotion in him and realized he liked Claire Kincaid much more than he had thought.

            He pulled into his parking spot and killed the bike.  Hopping off, he took Claire's helmet and tossed it in the seat compartment.

            "This way.  Hope you don't mind a little paper around," Jack apologized.

            "Same as my place," Claire said as they entered the elevator.

            Claire smiled when she saw Jack's apartment.  Jack shut the door and set his helmet down, shrugging off his jacket.  

            "Sorry.  I guess there's a bit more paper than I thought," he said, taking some files off the couch and setting them on a table.

            "That's okay.  I know the feeling."

            "We can sit outside.  I have a nice balcony.  How about it?"

            Jack took Claire's jacket and draped it over a chair.  She glanced around.

            "Well, it seems the best place."

            Jack smiled.  "Fine.  Let me get the wine."

            They went outside, Jack carrying the wine and glasses.  Claire sat in the chair opposite Jack and looked out over the balcony.  "This is beautiful, Jack."

            "Thanks," he said, twisting the cork out.  "There.  I think you'll like this, Claire," he said, carefully pouring two glasses.

            "Thanks.  Cheers," Claire said.  They drank and Jack let out a satisfied sigh.

            "Mmm.  Great."

            "Yes."

            They sat in a strange and uncomfortable silence.  Claire looked over the small table to Jack.

            "Penny for your thoughts," she said.

            "My time's worth more than that," Jack said with a small smile.  "But all right--I'm--I'm thinking that this is a beautiful night.  And I'm sitting here with good wine talking with a really beautiful woman," he finished seriously.  He was glad to see that Claire didn't look away.  She was looking levelly and seriously at him.  He stared back, feeling himself being pulled into her eyes.

            Claire finally spoke.  "I'm happy to be here, Jack.  With you," she said, raising her glass to him.  He moved over and knelt down in front of her while she drained the glass.  He held one of her hands lightly.

            "Claire, I don't want to push it.  I can be a real jerk around women.  But this--this is different for me."  Jack spoke softly, petrified inside he'd say something wrong.  Claire looked down at him and leaned close.  She touched his face caressingly and he moved closer.

            "I know.  Jack," she said as softly, wondering at the depth of feeling she felt for McCoy.  She had been thinking about him frequently and wondering how to approach him.  She saw now that the best way to talk to Jack McCoy was directly.  "Jack, I'd been wanting to know you.  That sounds cheesy, God.  I want to know you, Jack McCoy."

            Jack tentatively leaned close to her.  Their lips touched and he held the kiss, moving in to hold her.  He was thrilled when Claire relaxed into the kiss and responded in kind.

            "Claire.  You're so beautiful," he said breathlessly when they broke the kiss.

            "So are you.  Come here," Claire said, standing and pulling McCoy up.  She looked up at him, towering over her, and took his hand.  

            He followed her as she led the way back into the apartment, over to Jack's enormous chair in his living room.  She pushed him down into it and sat on his lap, arms around his neck.  He held her and smiled.

            "What are you thinking?" he asked.  Claire undid the top button of Jack's shirt and paused.

            "This," she said, kissing him and moving her hands down to undo the rest of the buttons.  Jack slowly reached up and tugged gently at Claire's T-shirt, pulling it out of her jeans and waiting.  Claire pulled away long enough to pull her shirt off and Jack kissed her again as he worked his shirt off and threw it down.  They held each other breathlessly tight.  Jack felt a small mental twitch as Claire ran her hands over several of the old scars on his back but pushed the moment away for the time being.

            Claire broke the kiss and looked at Jack.  He smiled in wonder.

            "You feel nice," he said, somewhat foolishly.  She smiled back.

            "Are you afraid, Jack?"

            "Why?"

            "I know more about you than you do about me.  I know how you treat your assistants."

            "You know how I used to.  Please, Claire," he begged.  She stood up and watched him.

            "Will you do me a favor?" Claire asked.

            "Of course."

            "Just don't be like you used to.  Be yourself, Jack," she said quietly. Jack stood and pulled her close.

            "I will.  I swear I will."

            "Good."

            They moved into his bedroom, Claire faintly amused by the quantity of blankets on Jack's unmade bed.  They tumbled into it and slowly, with respect and excitement, undressed each other.  Jack marveled silently at Claire, feeling a little self-conscious being naked next to her.  It took only a few moments for him to forget their age differences and concentrate completely on her.

            Claire, for her part, enjoyed the equality nakedness granted her and Jack.  She sense his slight discomfort and gently touched him, feeling his body gradually relax and his muscles loosen.  She was mildly surprised at the power of the emotions she felt for the man with her as well as his gentleness with her.  She broke their kiss and looked down at him.  He reached up and moved her hair out of her eyes, his own shining in the dim light.

            "Hello," he said quietly, a smile on his face.

            "Hello.  How are you?"

            "Wonderful.  You?"

            "Getting better every moment," she said.  It was the last thing either said for some hours.

            They enjoyed the slow, casual pace of their lovemaking, neither one feeling rushed or pressured to hurry.  Jack completely abandoned his aggressive, arrogant work attitude and became a gentle and concerned lover, willing to let Claire guide whatever was going on.  For her part, Claire found his vulnerability and openness greatly appealing and felt herself falling into a deep love with Jack.

            Jack simply stared at her silently and stroked her face during a brief lull.  He felt a complete involvement with Claire, something he had never felt with anyone and an emotion which pleasantly surprised him.  She saw the smile on his face and smiled back, happy and content to be with him, lying quietly facing each other.

            The night went on in a kind of slow motion, the time seeming to stretch on forever.  They enjoyed immensely each other's bodies, Claire amused by the height difference and Jack fascinated by Claire's delicate beauty.  The morning light still found them entwined in each other closely, Claire's head on Jack's chest, arms wrapped around each other.

            Jack glanced down at her.  He sighed and kissed the top of her head.  "Morning, beautiful," he said softly.  Claire looked up at him.

            "Morning, lover."  She kissed Jack's chest lightly and smiled when she felt a shiver run through him.  He shifted and she slid on top of him, resting her chin on her hands and looking into his dark, sleepy eyes.

            "I love you," he said abruptly.  He was glad she didn't laugh--he didn't know what to expect.  Claire said nothing, but moved one hand down his side and rested it on his thigh.  Jack felt dreamy and happy.  Claire gently moved her hand up and down Jack's side.  Jack stroked her back lightly.

            "Love you," he repeated.  Again Claire said nothing, just stroked casually.  Jack could feel his sleepiness going away as he reacted to Claire's light touch and moved his hands lower.

            "I love you, Claire," he said again.  This time she stretched up and kissed him.

            "Third time's a charm," she said, and pulled Jack around and on top of her, searching his eyes and drawing him in for a kiss.  They remained with each other the rest of the day.

            They stood in the shower together, Jack gently working shampoo into Claire's hair.  She hummed happily under his hands.

            "I love having my hair washed," she said happily.  Jack smiled and tilted her head back to rinse it.

            "I love the way your hair feels," he said.  They finished and stepped out, Jack settling for a towel and giving his robe to Claire.  They sat on his couch and Claire toweled Jack's hair dry and then leaned against him as her dried her hair.  She sighed and leaned into Jack as he held her.

            "I'm glad you're here," he said.

            "Me too.  It took you long enough, Jack," Claire said.  He smiled at that.

            "I'm a slow learner," he answered.  "But I'd like to learn more, Claire."

            "Me too."

Part 7

            "How's Uncle Jack?" Mary asked as they sat eating their after school snack.

            "He's sleeping.  He had to go to the doctor today."

            "Oh.  Is he okay?" JJ asked, gulping his milk.  "I was hoping he could watch us ride today."

            "Maybe.  He didn't feel very good after we left the doctor.  He's been asleep for a few hours."

            "Can we wake him up?" Mary asked.

            "Course not, Mary," JJ said importantly.

            "He asked me to wake him around dinnertime."

            Mary fiddled with her last cookie.  "Can I at least see him?  I'll be real quiet."

            Kate smiled.  Jack had made quite an impression somehow on her kids.  "All right.  But you be extra quiet.  You go with her, JJ."

            The kids smiled and trotted quietly off to Jack's room.  JJ knocked very softly, whispering "Uncle Jack?"  He pushed the door open, saw his uncle asleep, and squeezed in, Mary behind him.  Mary tiptoed to the bed and looked down at Jack.  He was breathing softly and deeply, a half-smile on his lips.  Mary reached out lightly and patted Jack's hair.

            In his sleep Jack felt the light touch and shifted, still caught up in his dream and Claire.  He moved one hand until it found Mary's and gripped it.  Mary stood very still, JJ waving frantically.  Mary knew Jack was asleep and waited patiently.  When a minute passed and Jack hadn't moved again, she gently tugged.  Jack felt the pull and it was enough to break the dream.  He opened his eyes and looked into his niece's.  JJ was appalled.

            "Hey, kiddo," Jack said with a smile, letting go of Mary's hand.  She smiled back.

            "Hi, Uncle Jack."

            "Mary, you weren't supposed to wake him up!" JJ said urgently.  Jack looked over at his nephew.

            "It's okay, JJ.  I feel much better.  Good to see you guys."

            "Are you feeling okay Uncle Jack?" Mary asked, sitting next to him on the bed.  JJ came over and stood nearby.

            Jack blinked and stretched lightly.  "Yes.  I was just tired from the doctor, that's all.  What time is it?"

            "'Bout four-thirty," JJ answered.

            "Wow.  Would you call your ma, JJ?"

            "Yes, sir," JJ said, and ran out.  Jack turned his attention to Mary, who sat expectantly watching him.  "How are you?" he asked her.

            "Fine, thank you.  I hope your leg feels better, Uncle Jack."

            "Me too.  You know, Mary, you remind me of a friend of mine.  She has the same eyes."

            "Is she nice?"

            Jack smiled.  "Oh, yeah.  You'd like her."

            "Can I see her?"

            "Maybe--she's not feeling very good right now.  She--had an accident."  Jack felt a little sadness creep into his voice.

            "I hope she gets better," Mary said seriously as Kate came back with JJ.

            "Kids, why'd you wake your uncle up?" she asked.

            "Hey, Kate, it's okay.  I feel better."

            "Good.  Jack, JJ wanted to know if you'd feel up to sitting outside and watching them ride later."

            "Sure.  That'd be great," he answered. JJ and Mary brightened.

            "Fine.  Now kids, get moving and do your homework.  Go on."

            Both kids gave Jack a quick hug and went out.  Kate sat next to Jack.

            "Sorry.  I told them to be quiet."

            "It's okay.  I need to take a bath anyway."

            Kate saw her brother seemed slightly more upbeat.  "Better dreams, Jack?"

            "Yes.  Much better.  There's something about being away from work."

            "Makes you happy?"

            "There's only one thing that makes me happier."

            "Claire?"

            "Yes."

Part 8

            Jack settled into a routine of walking with Kate in the morning, going into town, then sitting with her and talking outside until they went to get the kids.  He felt himself gaining strength and working out some of his personal problems.  They didn't speak much about their father after the first time, Kate understanding Jack's need to work it out alone.  But she watched him over the next week, searching for signs of depression or anger.  To her surprise, he was calm and quite happy, but for one thing--Claire.

            Jack called twice that week to check on Claire, and always, it was the same--no change, Mr. McCoy.  He hung up with a sigh, wondering where he was finding the patience not to get upset and worried.  Jack marked it up to being away from the city.

            Jack was sitting at the kitchen table playing Go Fish with JJ and Mary when the phone call from Adam Schiff came through.  Kate answered it in the living room and brought the phone to Jack.

            "Who is it?"

            "It's Adam, Jack," Kate said hesitantly.  "Kids, let your uncle have a moment," she said as Jack took the phone. The kids went out.  She saw a trembling in his hand and asked a silent question.  Jack shook his head and she sat next to him at the table.  Jack cleared his throat.

            "Adam.  So you found me," he said with false humor.

            Adam Schiff heard the fear in his assistant's voice.  "Jack.  I hope you're okay?"

            "I'm better.  What's up, Adam?"  Jack tried hard to sound casual.  He reached out and held his sister's hand tightly.

            "I thought you should know, Jack--"

            "Claire?" Jack asked quickly, his heart seeming to stop.

            "Yes.  I thought you'd like to know--she's coming out of the coma, Jack."

            Jack felt his heart leap and a rushing excitement filled him.  Kate saw the happiness in his face and smiled, saying a thankful prayer silently.

            "When?  Adam, when?  Is she okay?"

            "Slow down, Jack.  Just earlier today.  Looks like she'll be fine."  Adam paused, knowing Jack was excited and waiting briefly for the younger man to calm down.

            "And?"

            "She asked for you, Jack."

            McCoy stood uneasily, body trembling with violent emotion.  "She did?  Adam?"

            "Yes.  I thought you might want to come back early.  Figured you'd want to know as soon as possible."

            "Yes--yes, of course.  I'll be back as soon as I can--later tonight."  *Claire, oh, Claire, thank God,* Jack thought over and over.  He barely heard anything else Adam said.  "All right.  See you soon, Adam  And thanks so much."  He hung up slowly, turning to Kate, an enormous smile on his face.  He put the phone down.

            "She's--she's going to be okay, Kate.  Claire's going to be okay," he said, laughing.  Kate hugged him tightly.

            "That's great, Jack!  Really wonderful."

            Jack felt slightly sheepish.  "Yes.  Kate--I'm sorry, I have to go back.  Sorry it's so early, I wanted to stay longer--"

            "Hush.  Of course you have to go back.  I'll drive you."

            "I don't know how to say thank you, Kate.  Please say you'll come to New York.  You and the kids, and Tom. I'll spring for the flight," he said seriously.  Kate kissed his cheek.

            "All right.  But you go, Jack.  Tell her we'll be thinking of her and praying."

            "Pray for me too, huh kid?" Jack asked.  Kate smiled.

            "Always, Jack.  I love you."

            The kids were unhappy their uncle was leaving so soon, but dutifully helped him get his stuff into the car and elicited promises from Jack to come back to Colorado all the way to the airport.

            "I promise, kids.  No more not seeing you for years."

            "Good, Jack," Kate said.  "Tom'll be happy to see you one day."

            "I'd like to see him again.  I'd like to see everyone again."

            Mary and JJ lugged Jack's bags over to the counter as Kate helped Jack into the airport.  He got his ticket and they went through the detector and walked him to his gate.  The plane was leaving in fifteen minutes and Jack had little time to say goodbye.

            "Bye, guys," he said, hugging both kids.  "I love you.  Be good, okay?"

            "I will, Uncle Jack," Mary said, tears in her eyes.  "I love you too.  Come and see us soon."

            JJ held back tears ineffectively.  "See you soon?  Maybe we'll go to a game?"

            "Sure."  Jack straightened and looked into Kate's eyes.  He hugged her tight, aware of the last call for boarding.

            "Hey, Jack.  I love you so much.  Be good to yourself, and take care," Kate said.

            "I love you.  Thank you so much, Kate.  For everything.  I can't thank you enough," Jack said with deep feeling.  He wiped tears from his eyes.

            Kate felt tears on her face as well.  "It's enough you came.  Please take care."

            Jack felt a tap and turned to see a flight attendant.  

            "We have to go, sir."

            "All right.  Kate--I'll see you soon.  Call you when I get to New York, okay?"

            "Okay.  Get out of here, Jack.  Love you."

            "Love you all.  See you, kids.  Bye."

            Kate and the kids waved as Jack hustled onto the plane and his first-class seat.  Both kids stood at the window and waved out at the plane.  As the plane taxied Jack saw them and waved back, sad to be leaving but happy at the reason.  He settled into the seat with barely contained excitement and cast his thoughts ahead to seeing his lover and his love again.

Part 9

            Jack was barely able to contain a shout of happiness as the taxi sped its way from the airport to the hospital Claire Kincaid lay in.  He responded automatically to the cabbie chatter, thinking over and over *She's going to be okay, she's going to be okay*  He moved much faster than he thought he could when the taxi came to a stop at the hospital and swung quickly into the hospital and an elevator.  Jack was almost bouncing with excitement as the elevator rose and stopped at the floor Claire was on.  McCoy swung over to the desk and asked for the room, them moved off down the hall, pushing himself to move faster.

            Jack pushed the door open quietly and first saw Adam Schiff, standing near the bed.  Adam turned when Jack came in and the movement gave Jack the first glimpse of Claire awake.  The sight took his breath away and he stared.

            "Good to see you, Jack.  I'll give you two some time alone.  See you outside, Jack," Adam said, brushing past Jack.  Jack nodded dumbly as Adam left.  He moved very slowly up to the bed, pulling a chair next to it and sitting, ever taking his eyes off Claire.

            Claire Kincaid looked back at him silently.  For am moment nothing happened, time still as lovers looked at each other intensely.  Finally, a smile appeared on Claire's face and Jack felt a rush of passionate love.

            "Jack," she said very softly, so softly Jack had to lean close.  "Jack."

            "Oh, Claire.  I--Claire, I'm so happy to see you," he said, his voice threatening to break.

            Claire Kincaid heard the tremor in his voice and closed her eyes briefly, feeling tears rising in them.  Jack saw the shimmer in her eyes when she opened them again and grasped her hand.

            "Don't cry, please, don't cry, Claire.  God, I'm so happy," Jack said, gently caressing Claire's hair.  He felt the tears in his eyes finally start falling and feared for his voice, sure it would crack.

            "Jack--please, just--just hold me a little, Jack."

            McCoy moved closer and leaned his chin on Claire's hand, looking up at her.  He was crying freely now and the warm tears splashed on Claire Kincaid's hand.  Weakly, very slowly, she moved her hand up and rested it on Jack's hair, trembling with the effort, as Jack gently tilted his head and rested it on the bed, still gazing at her.  They commiserated silently for a minute, both merely content to fill their minds with the other's presence.  Jack reached up and softly stroked Claire's face, finally raising his head and kissing her very gently, a mild sadness descending on him as he realized how pale she seemed.  He sat back and held her hand lightly.

            "I'm sorry I wasn't here.  I was with my sister."

            "It's okay.  Adam told me," she said.  Jack nodded.

            "I hurried back soon as I could.  Are you--are you feeling better?" Jack asked hesitantly.

            "I'm feeling very tired.  But at least I'm awake now."

            Jack swallowed the lump rising in his throat again.  "Claire--I--I'm sorry I upset you.  I wasn't--in the best of shape that day," Jack said quickly.

            Claire smiled, a tiny smile.  "None of us were.  I'm sorry too."

            "If you hadn't--I mean, if I hadn't been drunk--" Jack began.

            "Shh.  Wasn't your fault, Jack.  It wasn't."

            The words resonated in Jack's mind--wasn't your fault, wasn't your fault, wasn't your fault, Jack.  He tried to blink back the tears and failed, a sharp sob escaping before he lowered his head and wept silently.  Claire watched him, concerned, and managed to get him to raise his head.  His face shone with tears and Claire felt her heart jump.

            "Jack--what is it?"

            He breathed in raggedly, quickly passing a hand over his face.  "I'm sorry, Claire.  It's not you--I'm so happy you're better.  It's just--there's a lot we'll talk about, later.  If you still want to talk."  Jack let the unasked question hang there, afraid to articulate it.  Claire nodded at him.

            "Jack--of course I want to be with you.  I--love you, Jack.  I love you."

            Jack felt himself lighten somewhat, overwhelmed by Claire's understanding and tenderness.  He leaned forward and kissed her lightly.

            "Thank you.  I love you.  I love you so much, Claire."

            "Then don't cry.  We have plenty of time.  Just--give me time."

            "Of course.  I'll be here when you need me.  Whatever you need," Jack said seriously.

            "I just need time.  And you.  That's all, Jack.  That's all."

            Later that night, Jack McCoy stood on his balcony, leaning easily on his crutches.  He looked out quietly over the city which hummed and honked beneath him.  Claire Kincaid was going to be fine, getting better and better.  Adam Schiff was very happy Jack had come to some kind of terms with himself, although Jack had declined to elaborate.  It was still a process he was working out, this understanding of his relationship with his father and how it had affected him as a boy and as a grown man.  Jack was supremely happy that he had given a name to the violent anger and depression that had lurked for so long just under his arrogant and forceful facade.  And somehow, he knew he would be able to put it to rest, one day.

            Jack sighed as he watched the city below.  The lights and sounds gently lulled him, even as the silence of the Colorado mountains had.  Jack felt an odd energy in him being back in the city, and realized it was the excitement he felt at the new life he was going to lead.  He would be the aggressive DA, yes.  He would still ride his bike--now a new Harley--yes.  And he would still have his moments of tension and anger, yes.  All this Jack McCoy realized, and the realization came easily.  Jack knew he was going to be all right, that he would be able to put a lot of demons to sleep in time.  He just needed time.  Thanks to his sister, he had been given time.  Thanks to the time he spent away from the city, he had been given a better understanding of himself.

            And most of all, thanks to Claire Kincaid, he had been given love.  Jack McCoy looked up, searching the sky.  Finally he was able to pick out a star, faint and very far away.  He stared at it for a long while.

            "I'm going to be okay.  I will.  It's not my fault.  You hear me, dad?  John McCoy, it's not my fault."  Jack felt a single tear fall.  "You're going to let go of me, dad.  I'm trying hard, and you will let me go.  You have to.  I can't help it if I love you--I can't.  Just--let me go," Jack finished.  He thought he saw the star wink slightly, and shrugged it off, not trusting his eyes.  At the same time, he felt oddly relieved to have said it--even if only the stars heard him.  

            Jack looked back down at the humming city.  And most of all, thanks to Claire, I have love.

            "Thank you,"  Jack said softly.  "Oh Jesus, Claire, thank you."

            The city hummed silently below him.  All New York seemed to be alive, and seemed to agree with Jack McCoy:

            Thank you, Claire.


End file.
